In the Shadow of Lightning

46

Kizzie was surprised when Gorian intercepted her just outside the watchhouse. He was dressed smartly in his National Guard uniform, auraglass buttons polished and jacket brushed. She paused to look him up and down before raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you all decked out for?”

“The glassdamned war,” he answered. “They’re calling up thousands of National Guardsmen for the front. We’ve got an inspection with the Ministry of the Legion later today and I want to look and feel my best for it.”

“You want to get called up to the front?” Kizzie asked in surprise. That was very unlike Gorian. “You know you’re not trained for actual combat, right?”

Gorian sniffed indignantly. “I do the requisite military drills every eighth weekend, thank you very much.”

“That’s not combat.”

“Nor do I intend on actually seeing any.” He tapped the side of his nose with one finger. “A friend at the Ministry gave me the skinny. This business with the Grent and Kerite – they’re only sending useless meat from the National Guard out there to get ground up. Everyone who looks and acts sharp stays in the city to protect the interests of the guild-families.” He gave her a self-satisfied grin.

That sounded more like Gorian. “You’re a weasel.”

“I’m your weasel, Kizzie, and I’m very useful.”

“Tell me just how useful. Where’s the Tall Man?”

Somehow, Gorian’s grin grew even more self-satisfied. He breathed on the fingernails of his right hand, polished them on his jacket, then held them out for inspection. “He’s just inside.”

“You caught him?” she blurted in surprise.

“Not at all. He paid me to set up the meeting.”

Kizzie was not proud that her bowels did a backflip inside her, but they did just that. “Are you insane?” she hissed, snatching him by the arm and pulling him over to the side of the street. “Why the piss would you set up a meeting for him?”

“Because he asked,” Gorian replied with a shrug. “Come on, Kizzie. It’s in a watchhouse. Ten of my best are in there playing cards at this very moment. You wanted to find him and that’s the best damned place for a meeting you could possibly imagine.”

Kizzie walked to the middle of the street and back again just to try and get out some of her nervous energy. “So he’s not inside of a cell?”

“No.”

“I’d feel a lot safer if he were.”

“What, because you think he’s involved in this secret sorcery war?” Gorian’s self-satisfaction began to fade. “He’s tall, I’ll give you that, but he’s not even carrying a weapon. No visible godglass. One of my crew is a minor-talent glassdancer, and the Tall Man is not one of them. Perfectly safe.”

Kizzie looked one way and then the other to make sure they were alone, then leaned toward Gorian. “You heard about General Stavri’s assassination?”

“Yeah.”

“He was there.”

Gorian’s eyes widened. He didn’t look so pleased with himself anymore. “But he’s not a glassdancer.”

“I didn’t say he did it, I just said he was there.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was there. I walked into it minutes after it happened to look for Agrippo Stavri. I raised the alarm and don’t – don’t – mention that to anyone.”

“Right, right,” Gorian said, nodding emphatically. He glanced uncertainly toward the front door of the watchhouse. “He was probably there to make a report to someone and just missed the assassins. Just like you.”

“Well then we’re both damned lucky,” Kizzie said. She swore under her breath. She wasn’t ready for this. If Gorian had mentioned that the Tall Man was here, she would have come with twenty Vorcien enforcers armed to the teeth.

“You want me to go in there and arrest him?” Gorian asked.

Kizzie considered the offer for a moment, then wondered if she should go get twenty Vorcien enforcers. But she couldn’t risk spooking the Tall Man. She needed answers out of him. And, it seemed, he needed answers from her. That second thought was far more terrifying. She stopped herself in mid-thought. Why was she so terrified of him? She hadn’t actually seen him do anything. He might just be an observer or a spy or … something else.

It was the way he just watched. When Glissandi died, and after Kizzie raised the alarm at the boxing club. She could still see those calm, cold-fire eyes when she went to sleep. That was why she was so terrified.

“Don’t try to arrest him,” she told Gorian. “I’ll go in there and talk to him, but I want you to be ready to act. That asshole screams violence to me.”

“Eh. Guys that big don’t move so fast.”

“Did you ever see Baby Montego fight?” Kizzie snapped.

“Ah. Point taken.” Gorian inhaled sharply through his teeth. “It’s fine. Twelve of us, one of him. I’ll make sure everyone is on alert while you talk to him. If anything goes wrong, just snap your fingers and we’ll put the bastard on the floor.”

Kizzie shook out both arms and then threaded her braided godglass earrings through each ear, giving herself a moment to grow accustomed to the sorcery now flowing through her. She adjusted her stiletto, switched her blackjack to her left pocket, and nodded at Gorian. “Fine, let’s go chat with him.”

The Tall Man sat quietly in the corner of the watchhouse, calmly sipping a cup of tea while he read the morning newspaper. Kizzie paused briefly when she saw him there, looking as normal as anything, wondering once again why she was so afraid until he lifted his piercing gaze up to meet her eye. “You gave him tea?” she whispered to Gorian.

“It seemed polite,” Gorian responded, heading over to the other National Guardsmen playing cards beside the holding cells. The room was quite crowded with eleven of them, the Tall Man, and her. Gorian and his comrades were not subtle about the way they shifted for their truncheons and knives. Kizzie rolled her eyes and forced herself to walk straight over to the Tall Man, sitting down in the chair with its back to the wall and gazing across the table at him.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was oddly gentle and melodic, as if practiced to be at odds with his height. “You’re Kissandra Vorcien.”

“I am. And you?”

“My name is not important,” he said, glancing down into his tea with a small smile. “I have a message for both you and Father Vorcien.”

Kizzie tensed and took a long, slow breath. How would Father Vorcien do it? Piss, how would Demir do it? Probably let the guy talk and hope he gave her the answers she was looking for along the way. “I’m all ears,” she said, returning his smile.

“The Vorcien will withdraw any inquiry into the murder of Adriana Grappo, and in return we will maintain the peace between us.”

Kizzie scoffed. What kind of damned arrogance was this? “That’s not a message. That’s a demand.”

“It is what you make of it.”

“The Vorcien don’t take well to demands.”

“And my master doesn’t take well to meddling.”

Kizzie felt the wan smile slide off her face. “Perhaps your master would like to meet with Father Vorcien himself. Let the two of them work it out.”

“Then what would us poor servants have to do with our lives, hmm? No. This is a one-time thing. A warning. A demand. A message. Whatever you want to call it, take it back to Father Vorcien.”

“You haven’t even told me who you are or who you work for.”

“Nor will I.”

“Then why should I so much as sniff at you?” she asked. “I may not be a full-blood Vorcien, but I am a Vorcien.” She laid her right hand flat on the table to show the small silic sigil. “Until I know who you actually are, I can only assume you’re a nobody. A spot on the road. Father Vorcien would laugh me out of his estate if I came back to him with such a demand.”

“Not all power comes with a famous name.”

“Have you been in Ossa long?”

The Tall Man chuckled softly. “You’re charming, Kissandra Vorcien. Just the right mix of clever and arrogant to make a good enforcer. But at this moment you’re making a mistake. Take the message to your father.”

Kizzie couldn’t shake the feeling of unease itching between her shoulder blades, like she could sense a marksman on a nearby roof with her head in the crosshairs. There was no marksman, though, and she wasn’t even near a window. She thought of what she’d told Gorian earlier about the Tall Man oozing violence. It was the same sort of sense, she suddenly realized, that she used to get from Montego. They both had the same subtle, animal ferocity just underneath the surface, like a spring loaded into a trap.

All her instincts told her to stand up and walk out. If she did, how could she possibly explain that to Father Vorcien? That she let herself – a Vorcien bastard and a prime enforcer – get pushed around by a nobody? It was absolutely out of the question.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” she finally said, raising her chin. She signaled to Gorian with the roll of one finger. All conversation from the other end of the room ceased. Gorian and his National Guardsmen got up from their card games, spreading out, crossing over to them with weapons in hands. Kizzie said, “I want answers from you, asshole. Why were you at the Brawlers Club?”

The Tall Man gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Answer me,” Kizzie demanded. “Who’s your master? Is it a member of the Glass Knife? Out with it now!” Moments passed and the Tall Man finished the rest of his tea, then carefully folded his newspaper before making to stand. “Gorian, arrest this piece of shit,” Kizzie said.

Gorian stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You stay seated until Kizzie says otherwise,” he ordered.

The Tall Man sighed. “I see. You really aren’t taking this seriously, are you?” he asked Kizzie.

“I will when you do,” Kizzie replied, reaching for her knife.

In the time it took her to grasp the hilt of her stiletto, the Tall Man had broken Gorian’s arm. It happened in the blink of an eye, so quick that for half a second she thought she’d imagined it. But in the next moment, Gorian was on the ground screaming in pain while chaos erupted around her. Kizzie drew her stiletto, summoning all of the strength granted by her forgeglass to shove the table against the Tall Man.

It was like pushing against a boulder. The Tall Man barely seemed to nudge the table back and Kizzie found herself flung against the wall, stunned by the impact, watching with dizzying horror as the Tall Man seemed to whirl around the room. He caught a guardsman by the throat, rammed his fist into the chest of another, snatched the woman’s truncheon, and then swung it in a lazy-looking arc that dashed the brains out of two more. The guardsmen, all of them wearing low-resonance forgeglass, looked like they were standing still compared to the Tall Man.

Kizzie fought through her daze and tightened her grip on her stiletto, leaping forward to plant it square in the Tall Man’s back. Or at least, that had been her intention. He seemed to sense her movement behind him and stepped out of the way. Her blade barely slid along his side, a deep but not inconveniencing cut that he answered by smashing his elbow against her chest. The blow knocked her back against the wall once more, all the air forced out of her lungs.

By the time she had recovered enough to move, everyone else – eleven glassdamned National Guardsmen – was on the ground. Kizzie sank low, cursing the Tall Man silently as she darted forward. The pisser was fast as anything she’d ever seen, but she was no slouch, and she would not go down without a fight. He spun toward her, smacking aside the blade of her stiletto with the flat of his hand. He did not, however, see her blackjack. She clocked him on the side of the chin with every bit of force she could muster, the blow hard enough to wrench her own wrist around painfully.

He did not go down. He barely even flinched. He batted the blackjack away, punched her in the stomach hard enough to make her see stars, and then snatched her by the throat and lifted her up to his eye level. Kizzie scratched his arms, kicked at his knees and groin, all to no avail.

“This is your one warning,” he told her over the sound of her own struggles. “Give it to Father Vorcien. There won’t be another.”

The next thing Kizzie knew, she was lying flat on her back, staring up at the watchhouse ceiling. Stars circled her vision, and every damned part of her hurt. It felt like she’d fallen off a two-story building directly onto her chest. Her throat felt absolutely crushed, but she found she could both breathe and speak.

“Gorian,” she muttered, flailing around, trying to find her knife. She lifted her head enough to see that the Tall Man had disappeared. The room was completely silent, which was a relief for a few moments until she realized just how completely. There wasn’t a moan or a curse or even the sound of breathing. Panicking, she scrambled to her hands and knees and flailed over body after body, looking into lifeless faces that she’d bribed and bought drinks for over the years.

Gorian was in the corner. He must have gotten back up after having his arm broken, because he was some distance from the table. He lay with his head propped up against the wall, a surprised look on his face, eyes glassy and chest not moving. Swallowing bile, Kizzie gently shook him and bent to put her cheek in front of his mouth. “Gorian?”

Nothing.

Gorian was dead, and Kizzie had nothing to show for it.

Father Vorcien’s carriage was halfway down the estate drive, probably heading off to the Assembly District, when Kizzie forced it to stop by standing in the middle of the gravel. The driver pulled up, bodyguards leaping from the running boards and reaching for swords. Men and women that she’d known her entire life looked like strangers to her, the world dark and unfeeling. For half a moment, she thought they were just going to shoot her down right then and there, but a word was exchanged and a hand cracked by glassrot scales reached out of the carriage window and beckoned her forward.

“What has happened?” Father Vorcien demanded, looking her up and down from inside the carriage. His gaze lingered on her neck, and she wondered how red it was. It certainly hurt like a bitch, even with milkglass on.

“The Tall Man I told you about,” Kizzie managed. “I cornered him at Watchhouse One-Eight-Seven and he just pissing killed everyone. Gorian, Philli, Stalia – glassdamned everyone.”

Father Vorcien remained silent for a moment. “Except you.”

Kizzie found herself giving him a quick, terrified nod. Glassdamnit, when had she become such a coward? She’d seen death. She’d killed. Friends had died. But this … she’d never seen anything like it. “He sent me with a message – that we’re to stop looking into Adriana’s death, and in return he won’t attack us.”

“Who is he?”

“I have no idea. He refused to tell me. A lackey of the Glass Knife, perhaps?”

“Ah.” Father Vorcien settled back into his carriage seat, his eyes turning to stare at the far wall of the carriage. She could see small tics play out across his face, the corners of his eyes tightening. “So that’s how it is.”

“Do you know who they are?”

He shook his head.

“Father. He killed them all.”

To her surprise, Father Vorcien did not rebuke her display of weakness. He gazed at her for a long time before saying, “That is most distressing. Diaguni!”

Kizzie turned to see that the majordomo had hurried from the house to see what the holdup was. He joined Kizzie at the carriage door. “Master Vorcien?”

“Clean up Watchhouse One-Eight-Seven. Those were our clients, no matter how far down the rung. Make sure their survivors are taken care of, and make sure nothing leaks to the papers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take a very thorough description of the assailant from Kissandra. I want everyone watching for him. Follow, but do not engage. I want to know who his master is.” He turned back to Kizzie. “And you, daughter. Clean yourself up. You have black gunk all over you. Then get back to the Hyacinth.”

“But … Demir has a blood feud against Capric.”

“It has been ended.”

“How?” Kizzie’s mind reeled. She knew Demir better than Father Vorcien did, and she could think of nothing in the world that would cause him to let go of a blood feud.

“I’ll explain when you’ve finished. For now, I want you to endear yourself to Demir. Get closer. Finish the puzzle around his mother’s death.”

“What about the Tall Man?”

“Forget about him.”

“He just killed eleven of my friends. How am I supposed to…” She choked on her own spittle, the only thing that kept her from raising her voice to her father.

Father Vorcien drummed his fingers on the windowsill of his carriage. “Every Vorcien enforcer and client in the city will be on the lookout for him. We’ll take him down or run him to the ground. Either way, he won’t get so much as a chance to shadow you. You might be a bastard, Kissandra, but you are mine. No one decides your fate but me.”

His words were reassuring, in a patronizing way. Kizzie swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good. Continue.” He pounded on the roof of his carriage, and suddenly it was off.

Kizzie stared after it for several moments before looking down at herself. Father Vorcien was right, she was covered in black gunk, splashed across her jacket and pants like a blood spatter. There was some on her hands, too. She put it out of her mind and stared off across the estate grounds, thinking of the bodies of all those men and women she’d known for years. Gorian hit her the hardest, but they’d all been friends. Drinking together. Card games. Brothels. She was closer to them than she was to most of her fellow enforcers.

“Kissandra,” Diaguni said gently. She started, turning to find that the majordomo had taken her by the arm. He went on, “Come inside and give me that description. I’ll find a brandy and some better skyglass to calm your nerves.”

“Thank you, Diaguni,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way. She desperately tried to stay in her own head, wrestling with the fear and helplessness. A single cut. That was all that she’d managed to get on that asshole with eleven armed companions. She didn’t know if anyone else had managed to tag him. She watched Diaguni walking toward the house, willing herself to follow, but still uncertain.

Over the course of a few moments, she felt her terror turn to anger. Everything that kept her from acting suddenly seemed so stupidly unimportant. The Tall Man had killed her friends. What were family ties or secret histories or even her own damned pride in the face of that? She was Kizzie Vorcien, damn it. People respected her. People depended on her. If she couldn’t protect them, then she would damn well avenge them. To do so she would need help.

It was time to swallow her pride and seek an alliance with the only person in Ossa who terrified her more than the Tall Man.