Mistress of Bones by Maria Z. Medina - XXIII. Seeking Danger

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.
“Tell me what you truly saw at the exhibition,” Enjul asked.
Azul arched her brows. “I see now. Your plan was to wait for me to identify these people for you. You imagined yourself sweeping in after me, interrogating them, then ending their lives to correct the malady’s wrongs. A coup for you and your god.”
Enjul pierced her with a hard stare. “He’s your god too. You owe him for simply stopping your foulness and not your heart.”
Azul wondered if that was true. If she were such an offense, if the Lord Death were so powerful, wouldn’t he have taken her down with Isadora?
“Show your respect and help as you promised,” he continued. “Or is your word worth nothing?”
“If you won’t immediately kill the necromancer’s victims,” Azul said.
Enjul smiled coldly and sipped his drink. “You forget your place, Azul del Arroyo. You’ve had your freedom but become a liability, and I will have you sent back to Valanje whole or in pieces. Keep changing the terms of our deal, and you will make me wonder why we have a deal at all.”
“Very well,” Azul said. “Go around killing random people. Show yourself as the Emissary of the Lord Death and force my fellow malady into hiding. You think you will catch them unaware if all you do is produce a massacre and cause the Guard to investigate the bloodshed? You may have rights as an emissary, but the Lord Death is not the only god of these lands. Those speaking for the Lord Life and the Blessed Heart might have a problem with your bloodthirst.”
Enjul blinked. “How many walking corpses have you seen?”
“Three, so far.” Azul saw no harm in telling him this much, since he couldn’t find them on his own. “One belongs to the blue tabards, the others I don’t know. But who knows how many more there might be?”
“The malady is getting ears in every building,” he muttered, followed by another sip.
Azul wasn’t fooled by the apparent ease of his posture. He was trying to hide his thoughts from her, even if the mask already did a good job. “I think so too.” After a slight hesitation, she added, “I have a proposal.”
“Another deal?” he asked wryly.
“Indeed, I grow them in my garden. But think of it as a refinement rather than a new weed. You might be able to recognize this other necromancer like you recognized me, but your choice to shed your emissary status makes it impossible to access the upper echelons of Cienpuentes.”
“It has its drawbacks,” he conceded.
“You can hire people to look for you, like you hired my shadow to follow me around, but without my help, you’re stuck at hoping someone will cross your path. The necromancer wasn’t at the exhibition, since you still haven’t found them, but not all the court was there, and they must belong to it. Otherwise, why the need for these spies so conveniently located? How else would they have access to an ambassador’s second-in-command long enough to see them dead and brought back to life? I’d bet a fair coin a lot of the nobles probably watched the exhibition from the cooling shadows of the rooms surrounding the plaza, not out in the open with the sweat and the heat.”
“An easy assumption.”
Her smile was as glacial as his. “Noche Verde is coming up. The court is out of mourning and will put on splendid balls. All the court will be in attendance—easy pickings for you.”
“The thought has occurred to me.”
“I have secured invitations on my own. You could accompany me and my brother, and nobody would think it weird he brought his guests along. He’s a marquess; he will be allowed at all the balls.” She had meant the second invitation for Nereida, guessing if they were to make a desperate move, that would be the time, but this could work as well. Easier to slip his reach in the coming days if he had something to look forward to.
“You assume I cannot gain entrance on my own.”
Azul took a bite of one of the chunks of cheese. “You would have to announce yourself as the emissary. News that one of you is in town would spread like free-flowing wine, and the necromancer will hide until you’re gone. But as of now,” she pointed out, “because you haven’t gone on a rampage, the victims remain where they are. The necromancer is unaware of your presence.”
“I could simply procure the invitations under my name, and only those involved would know of my status.”
“Your people have already been compromised—the necromancer killed your ambassador’s second-in-command, and you don’t know who else might be under their control or we would be staying at Valanje’s official house in Cienpuentes instead of my brother’s.”
“And in return for this invitation, what is it that you expect of me?”
Such easy acquiescence. He was playing with her. What did the emissary know that she didn’t?
“I wish for your goodwill,” she said. “For us to truly work together instead of this thing we do now where you call for me and I rebel, and then you drop me into the toy box until the next time you are in need. You know what I seek, and you are so sure you will stop me from achieving it. You probably wish to send me away in a cage but you can’t risk it—you might need my ability to seek the necromancer’s victims. And so, we remain at a standstill. I won’t go back on my word, and you promised you won’t hurt my siblings. Working together will stop me from raising my sister. Isn’t that what you want? Unless, of course, you are worried two necromancers might be too much for a single emissary.”
A contemplative silence followed.
“How many people have you raised?” Enjul finally asked.
“Why did you become an emissary?” she countered.
They stared at each other.
He smiled faintly. “It wasn’t a choice. I was born a servant of the Lord Death.”
“Isadora and Sirese Zenjiel are the only people I’ve brought back. If you were born what you are, how does it make you different from me?”
“And before them, animals?” He paused, then narrowed his eyes as he considered her question. “Don’t pretend to liken your sort to me. I do not assume to know better than the god; he is my guide in life, for my life is his.”
“A few animals, yes. Isn’t it disappointing being unable to do as one wishes, always following someone else’s orders?”
“Does stealing someone from the Lord Death come with ease?” He looked at the plate of food, wrinkled his nose at the cheese, and chose a rolled slice of ham. “I know no other way of life, so I am unable to compare. I am not a mere puppet, Miss Del Arroyo, I have thoughts and a will of my own, and I am glad to have the Lord Death inside me to be a guide, a comfort in life. Looking at those around me, I find myself glad to have a goal, to have strong enough character to see it through.”
Azul decided to be truthful to his first question. “Animals come with ease. A person, no. You and I are more similar than you want to admit. I have my own goals, as you know. Would you say I don’t fight to see them through?”
“A person doesn’t come with ease, you say, and yet this other necromancer has raised three people that we know of, and who knows how many else.”
“Their gift might be different from mine. It might come more naturally to them. I see you refuse to acknowledge my question.”
“More powerful than you, with lesser conscience.”
Azul was surprised at the defense of her morals, even if annoyed at the mention of the disparity between her and the other necromancer’s power. “I’m not interested in power.” She studied Enjul. “This other necromancer scares you more than I do, don’t they?” His mouth tightened, and she waved her hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, the Emissary of the Lord Death is scared of no one. But all this use of otherworldly gifts … If there are two of us, there could be more. The possibility unsettles you.”
His fists clenched on the table. “Of course it does.”
“Has it occurred to you that these gifts are the gods’ will?”
Enjul stared at her as if her brain had escaped her head.
She lowered her gaze and then her voice. “If we—people—are a product of the gods, wouldn’t our gifts be too?”
“If that were so,” Enjul answered, “your sister would still be on her feet. Your gift might appear god-given at first glance, but the god clearly refused it.”
“But the Lord Death is not the only god.”
“He is the only one who deals with death.”
Azul flinched. His words had been cold, and held all the truth.
“Is being chosen by the god the only way to join the Order?” she asked in a subdued tone. “Does … does he talk to you, in your head? Tell you what to do? Or is he a shadow hovering over your shoulder, watching your every move?” She pointed at the man waiting nearby. “Like mine.”
Enjul let out a small snort. “The Lord Death guides my instincts. He has better things to do than to whisper in my ears all day long like some lazy fool. As for joining the Order, there are many ways and reasons to do so. Some join because they feel it’s a calling, some join because it’s a job, many attempt to join in the hopes their misdeeds will be forgiven.”
“I’ll say,” she murmured, picking another chunk of cheese. She had seen them, too, people in their old age who saw the end coming and wished to atone before meeting their gods. “And those like you?”
“We, the emissaries, were born with the blessing of the god inside us.”
Azul wanted to ask again how that differed from her, but was unwilling to break this unexpected sense of camaraderie growing between them. The sudden ease of sitting opposite each other without the urge to cross swords. He was an imposing man, his total focus on her intense. And yet …
This strange kinship, this ease … It was dangerous. She had no doubt he didn’t share the feeling.
“How did the Order find you?” she asked. “Do they test every newborn baby for the god’s blessing?”
Enjul’s gaze took on a faraway, almost fond, quality. “No, I looked for them when I realized what dwelled within me.”
“So, the god chose you, and you had no choice,” she said.
“None of us has any choice,” Enjul answered.
“You imply people are set in stone, when it’s obvious people can change.”
“You can chip away certain parts, if you insist on that analogy, and you can certainly break them, but they’ll always be the same type of stone, won’t they?”
“I should’ve used another example.”
An actual laugh. “It doesn’t matter what you use, all things created remain what they are. You can bend them, mold them, attempt to turn them into something else, but that won’t transmute them. A sword will always be the metal it was forged from.” He lifted his cup. “Wine will always be the grape it was squeezed from.”
“Unlike those things,” Azul pointed out, “we have souls. We have the ability to think, grow, change.”
“A seed will only grow into a certain tree. It won’t change, no matter how much we care for it. It will be sickly if it doesn’t get enough water, or lush and fruitful if it grows by a stream—but it will still be the same tree.”
Azul read the amusement in his eyes but did not mind it. He had his belief, and she had hers. He lifted his cup, not to hide his features this time but to drink. Azul had grown accustomed to meeting his direct stares, even though he seemed to see right into her soul.
“Had I never raised anyone from death,” she said, “would you still think me a foul malady?”
His gaze became pensive. It feathered over her face, her arms, the hands busy with the edge of the plate. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “But perhaps I would have thought better of you.”
And Azul couldn’t understand why his words hurt.