Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Read online

  Katarina bit back the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to remain calm. ‘Have you been away from the homeland for so long you have forgotten what every boy and girl learns?’ She raised a hand to her breast. ‘The homeland lives here, not in the soil, nor the sea.’

  ‘I’m still not going to help you.’

  ‘Help me?’ Katarina heard her own voice rising, but was past caring. ‘Sudalra does not need your help, woman. How could we ever trust such bitterness, such hatred?’ She leaned over the table. ‘All I want to know is why the people’s mood in High Mera has soured – a simple, risk-free question that endangers no-one.’ Katarina puffed out a hot breath of disgust. ‘Your husband would be ashamed of you.’

  ‘You don’t know the first thing about him,’ Estella retorted as she scraped her chair back. ‘And the reason people are afraid is the disappearances; men and women vanishing in the night never to be seen again. It’s been happening for at least three weeks, and each morning rumours of another disappearance sweep through the taverns and markets. But don’t worry,’ Estella sneered, ‘it’s only the poor that are taken. The lords and ladies aren’t touched – not one – so you’ll be safe even without that animal you brought with you.’

  Estella slammed the chair back under the table, striking the table’s edge and spilling some of Katarina’s cocoa. Katarina toyed with the idea of murdering the innkeeper as she stared at her fast-departing back, but in the end decided Estella just wasn’t worth it. And she does make quite pleasant cocoa. Katarina picked up her mug, careful to hold it over the table so wayward drops didn’t mar her clothes. Perhaps I should deal with her when Stetch and I depart. That would avoid the issue of quality cocoa neatly. And, she thought, probably remove a future traitor to the homeland.

  *

  Katarina was waiting in the bar room when Stetch finally returned to the Ninety-Third Passage. The inn was more than half full, a steady trickle of customers coming in for supper. She sat at her usual table against the rear wall, her back to the bar as she left the wall seat free for Stetch. She watched as her ill-humoured companion seemed to repel everyone in his path, following a straight line that led him unerringly to her table. Most of the customers, she noticed, were Sudalrese emigrants, with only a few of the lighter-skinned Meracians dotting the tables like pale pimples. A few of them were giving her strange looks as she peered over her right shoulder across the room, so Katarina returned their challenges with a hard look of her own until they turned away. Satisfied, she adjusted her position, facing forward and waiting for the damnable man to reach her. Moments later Stetch arrived, and somehow in those intervening seconds he had managed to take a detour via the bar, a half-empty tankard now in his hand. She suspected it hadn’t started out that way.

  ‘Did you get lost?’ she asked as he dropped onto a chair opposite her, his back against the wall.

  Stetch just ignored her, didn’t even bother rising to the bait. ‘Trouble?’ she asked.

  Stetch shrugged. ‘Embassy’s watched.’

  ‘They tried to follow you?’

  A feral grin appeared on his face, and Katarina winced. ‘You didn’t kill them, did you?’

  ‘Should have done,’ he snorted, which Katarina figured was Stetch’s way of saying his pursuers were alive. And probably regretting their assignment.

  ‘Have you seen Steven?’ she asked.

  ‘Not his nursemaid.’

  Katarina let the remark pass. ‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, pleased that her voice sounded perfectly calm. ‘You look thirsty,’ she continued. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’

  When she returned to their table a couple of minutes later the puzzled expression on Stetch’s face had shifted to one of dark suspicion. He said nothing though, just drank half his ale in one huge gulp. Katarina watched, hiding her displeasure as Stetch dragged a sleeve across his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and as their eyes met Katarina forced herself to smile. She was reminding herself that Stetch was a necessary annoyance, and that before her trip was over she might just need the warrior’s skills. Even so, the smile still left a sour taste in her mouth.

  As minimalistic as ever, Stetch just raised an eyebrow. Katarina slid a letter across the table, her family’s seal ingrained in the red wax. ‘I need to let Father know what we have learned,’ she said. ‘There is too much we don’t know about, too many uncertainties, and I certainly don’t trust that spy.’ Stetch nodded and she continued, ‘We have to send word. In case…’

  He understood, grunting as he raised the mug to his lips. I suppose this is nothing new to him, Katarina thought. The Sworn were used to operating far from home, alone and without any support. The trip to Norve had been Katarina’s first excursion, but now, investigating the disappearance of her father’s spies in High Mera, the stakes were higher, the danger far, far greater. And all I have for protection is an ignorant warrior with a predilection for serving girls. And of course there’s Steven: a man as blunt as Stetch, and twice as stubborn. A war was coming, and its outcome might well be decided within High Mera’s walls long before the first sword was drawn, and that meant anyone with a vested interest in the war’s outcome would be trying to influence events in the city.

  ‘You’ll need to return to the ambassador tonight,’ she told Stetch, gesturing at the letter.

  He shook his head. ‘Ship leaving tomorrow,’ he announced between slurps of the dregs in his tankard. ‘Bound for Jhanhar.’ He slammed the tankard down, staring forlornly at its hollow interior. ‘One of ours.’

  ‘Fine, just make sure the letter reaches its destination.’

  *

  Steven returned to the Ninety-Third Passage just in time to join them for an early supper, dropping heavily into the chair opposite Katarina. He looked troubled and smelled of ale, resisting all of Katarina’s attempts at conversation. By the time supper arrived, she was more than a little irked.

  ‘Did you learn anything?’ she asked bluntly, more heat to her voice than she had intended.

  Steven looked up, and the bite in her tone seemed to enliven him for a moment. ‘Nothing good.’ He speared a wayward potato like it had personally offended him.

  ‘Would the lords not see you?’

  He hesitated for half a second, and Katarina fought the urge to strangle him. You didn’t even try, did you? His face was that of a guilty man, or a child caught with crumbs from a pilfered pastry.

  ‘I’ll figure it out.’ He assaulted the chicken on his plate like it had insulted his mother.

  ‘I hope you are not planning something stupid.’

  ‘I don’t plan anything stupid,’ he retorted, molesting the chicken again. He scowled at the plate a moment, then glanced up with a wry grin. ‘It just turns out that way.’

  ‘What happened?’ Katarina asked.

  ‘Kartane.’

  ‘Could you be more specific? There are so many reasons to loathe the man I couldn’t begin to guess what he’s done to offend you.’

  Steven’s eyes blazed with such fury that for a moment Katarina thought he might reach across the table and throttle her. She felt a tiny shiver of excitement. Back home nobody would lay a finger on her, not with the Black Duke as her father. No matter how she castigated or belittled people in Jhanhar, they always held themselves back. Not Steven though. Even after meeting her father, there was still an unpredictability around him, unfettered by knowledge of the Black Duke’s wrath.

  The anger slowly faded from his eyes. ‘Turns out the Reve aren’t keen on my knighthood,’ he told her. ‘According to Kartane, the Seven aren’t sure whether their lives might be better with me dead.’

  ‘You didn’t realise this would happen?’ She modified her tone, and tried to sound sympathetic. ‘Every choice has consequences, Steven.’

  ‘I didn’t ask to be a knight – not like this,’ he protested. ‘What should I have done? Refused an angel in front of a whole village?’

  ‘I did not fault your choice, but that of your winged friend.’ Som
ehow, Katarina couldn’t quite bring herself to say “angel”. ‘The choice was surely hers, and now you must reap the consequences.’

  ‘Wonderful! That makes it so much better, doesn’t it? If you get murdered by your own people, then it’s not really murder, is it? I don’t feel half as bad now!’

  ‘Have you quite finished?’

  Her patience was gone now, and Steven heard it too, stiffening as she gripped the table in an effort not to smash his nose.

  ‘I took you for a man, not a snivelling child seeking its mother’s apron,’ Katarina told him. ‘Do you want to know how to survive, or would you rather hear meaningless platitudes. Well? Which would have me speak?’

  For a moment he just sat there, his face a shocked painting. He laughed, leaning back in his chair. ‘When you put it like that, I guess I’d rather survive.’

  Katarina saw the hurt in his eyes, and tried to soften it with a gentle smile. ‘A knight’s life is tough, Steven, and yours will be tougher than most. From what you have told me, you do not have the luxury of adapting; you must steel yourself against those arrayed against you and do as you know a knight must.’ He nodded rather sheepishly, and Katarina tried another experimental smile. ‘All you have to do to earn the trust of the Knights Reve – and, by extension, the Seven – is to solve the problem before you.’

  ‘That’s it?’ He wanted to say more, almost did, but it seemed like common sense had finally penetrated his thick skull.

  ‘Yes,’ Katarina said. ‘If you can make the lords see sense and present the Gurdal with a united front then it will go a long way towards easing the Reve’s distrust of you. A distrust,’ she added, ‘which is mostly founded in jealousy. Prove to the men of the Reve that you are worthy of the title your winged friend bestowed on you and you will find an ally so strong even the Seven would not dare to denounce you.’ She held up her hands. ‘Simple!’

  Stetch twitched in his seat; just a slight movement, but Katarina noticed it. His arm moved a fraction as his eyes tracked someone moving through the inn. Going for his knife, Katarina realised as she caught the faintest hiss of steel in a rare moment of quiet. She kept still, her eyes darting quickly right. Once, twice, she glanced. By then she was certain of the intruder: tall, northern, heavily armed, and surrounded by a storm’s eye of silence.

  The rough-clad shape strode towards them, the silence deepening as a rough, woollen tunic burst through Katarina’s peripheral vision.

  Steven sensed the approach, too, and Katarina watched as he unashamedly evaluated the interloper. His face scrunched up like some old, old memory was tickling him. The warrior reached their table, peering down at him, and completely ignoring Katarina as if she wasn’t worth noticing. It was not something she was not used to, nor would she let it pass unanswered.

  ‘You’re a hard man to find, Tol Kraven.’

  His expression shifted as he heard the voice. He looked, Katarina thought, obscenely pleased to see the tall blonde warrior.

  He peered up at the warrior. ‘Vixen?’

  21.

  Her voice took Tol back to the day his father dragged him from Havak, sailed to Norve, trudged across the whole damned country, and abandoned him at the remote fastness of Icepeak. There had been tearful goodbyes with his mother, but the one person Tol had longed to see was noticeably, painfully absent. As the ship pulled out of the harbour, Tol glimpsed her one final time, standing on the bluff with her long blonde hair flowing loose in the bitter sea wind; his one true friend, defying her father to watch Tol sail away. The ship was already too far away for any words to be heard, so she just stood there, one hand raised in a limp wave of despair.

  It can’t be, Tol thought. The woman standing before him was tall, taller even than Tol, her broad shoulders encased in a thick, fur-lined coat. A longsword poked over her right shoulder, a single blonde braid resting on her left. Her hair was pulled back tight, but her round face was flushed, her little nose positively rosy. She looked different, but sounded just as he remembered.

  Tol took a breath. ‘Vixen?’

  She smiled, and he realised it was truly her, recognising that same smile which had shone a hundred times at the peak of their shared mischief a childhood ago.

  ‘Hello, Tol.’

  ‘What are you doing here? How did you…’ An image came to mind, so brief Tol had not made the connection earlier: on the docks of Karnvost as he raced to reach Katarina’s departing ship, a glimpse over his shoulder. A blonde warrior, peering across the docks from a newly-arrived vessel with a strange expression on her face: part relief, part frustration. Tol had been looking for the guards coming after him though, and hadn’t noticed at the time. He frowned. ‘You were in Karnvost.’

  ‘Ah, so you did see me. I wasn’t sure whether you had.’ Vixen grinned, the dimples in her cheeks deepening. ‘You looked to be having a little trouble with the city watch.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed.’

  Tol was dumbfounded. They had been separated for years, and now, with no warning, his best friend had breezed back into his life. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,’ he mumbled.

  Vixen crossed her arms, glowering down at him. ‘I knew I’d see you again,’ she said, ‘because I knew my friend would come back for me. But you never did, did you? I thought you would flee that abbey at the first opportunity, come home and… I thought you would come back. Now, when we do finally meet, all you want to know is why I’m here. Are you even pleased to see me?’

  ‘Of course I’m pleased to see you,’ Tol replied quickly, ‘it’s just… things are complicated.’

  A loud sigh drew his attention across the table, and Tol saw a piqued expression on Katarina’s face. ‘As you seem intent on disturbing my supper,’ she announced, ‘perhaps you might at least find yourself a chair. You are making the place look untidy. Perhaps by the time you return, your friend might even have found his manners.’

  Vixen stared at her for a second then broke into a deep, belly-rumbling laugh as she walked away, returning a moment later with a chair.

  Katarina introduced herself and Stetch briskly, enquiring politely how Vixen knew Tol. He watched as Vixen’s demeanour softened and – as she explained their childhood friendship – the inquisitive bent to Katarina’s face slowly faded. When they were finished, both women turned their gazes on Tol. It was not comforting.

  Tol slumped back in his chair. ‘I hated it at first,’ he said quietly. ‘The children back home were bad enough, but there were places to hide, and if some of the adults were around then they’d leave me alone. Icepeak was different: there was nowhere to hide, the brothers didn’t care what happened to me, and every child was taught how to fight properly… It was not pleasant.’

  He heard a murmur of sympathy from Vixen. ‘The Tol I knew,’ she said gently, ‘would have found a way to escape.’

  He chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I did. Three times in the first few weeks of that winter. There was nowhere to go though, the snow was so deep… The last time, I was half-dead when they found me, less than a league from the foot of the mountain.’

  Katarina cleared her throat. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Nine.’

  She smiled. ‘I am most impressed, Steven.’ She turned to Vixen. ‘I have been to Icepeak, and it is a formidable redoubt, reached only by a perilous mountain path and remote enough that you know you’ve reached the edge of the world. The mountain wind grabs you and tries to dash you on the ground below, and the snow… the snow never seems to stop. For a nine-year-old to reach the base of the mountain and travel another league? Quite remarkable,’ she said.

  ‘You know his name is Tol,’ Vixen frowned, ‘not Steven?’

  Katarina waved the question away. ‘To me, he is Steven. You may call him Tol.’

  There was a moment of silence, and Tol thought for a moment that the two women would come to blows. He wasn’t sure who would win. He wasn’t even sure who he wanted to win.

 
Vixen glanced at him and nodded. ‘It suits him.’

  Tol sighed in relief, a little too loudly though as it drew the attention of both women, a situation he was now beginning to find more than a little uncomfortable. He took a deep breath. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again, Vixen, it really is, but the thing is I’m sort of trying not to draw attention to myself’ – he ignored Katarina’s loud snort of disbelief – ‘so I really need to know how you found me, and why.’

  Vixen was quiet a moment. ‘Your father sent me.’

  ‘My…’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tol shook his head. ‘Why?’

  Vixen’s eyes darted to Katarina. ‘You trust this woman?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tol replied instantly. He thought about it for a moment, and realised that he really did trust Katarina, even if she was a spy. ‘Yes,’ he repeated with a smile, ‘I do.’

  ‘Your father commands a thousand men of Havak, and even now is leading them down to the Spur to face the Gurdal. He says it is time you took your place by his side. He said,’ Vixen shuffled uncomfortably, ‘that if no knight had chosen you by now, then it wouldn’t happen and you’d be best striking out on your own.’ She chewed her lip. ‘Of course, that was before all the business in Norve, and if the rumours I’ve heard are true, it seems you’ve found yourself a patron. Rumour is you’re a knight in your own right now, and sworn to an angel.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s true.’

  Vixen digested this a moment. ‘He’d still want you there, by his side. He’d be pleased you got knighted, too, I’m sure.’ She paused. ‘An angel?’

  Tol nodded.

  ‘I think your father will be really impressed, Tol.’

  And that just made the decision harder, but it was one Tol had already made, and once a vow had been made a man’s course was set. ‘I can’t go,’ he said, ‘not yet, at least.’

  ‘Your friend already appears to have a bodyguard.’ Vixen looked Stetch up and down. ‘Or perhaps a lover.’ Katarina choked in surprise – and perhaps, Tol thought, horror – but Vixen had eyes only for him. ‘What’s keeping you here?’ his friend asked. ‘Why are you here at all?’