“Delays happen, Slip,” Mirage said. Her vision was clearing now, showing her a tiny, rail-thin man sitting bolt upright behind a stack of papers. His knifelike face marked him as the twin of Wisp, Silverfire’s contact in Angrim.
“You do this on purpose, don’t you?” Eclipse complained.
“Do what?” Slip said blandly.
“Make it dark in here. You like us being blind when we walk in.”
“You knew what it would be like. Haven’t you learned to close your eyes before you come in? Stupid boy.”
Just as sweet as Wisp. Mirage grinned to herself. “Is Jaguar free?”
By way of an answer, Slip cocked his head to one side. A moment later, they heard a faint bong from overhead. “Now he is. You saw the idiot outside?” He barely waited for them to nod. “Five years here, and still an idiot. That’s his third session with the tower this month. Talon sent him for ten climbs this time. Says he’ll make it fifteen, next time, and twenty after that. Warrior save us all. I keep hoping the stupid git will fall off and make us all happy. Why Jaguar hasn’t thrown him out I don’t know. But he’s done now—that was ten—so go on upstairs.”
“Ouch,” Eclipse murmured in her ear as they left Slip’s domain. “Ten trips—that hurts.”
“And fifteen in store,” Mirage muttered back. She imagined she could hear the boy’s feet against the shale of the walls, climbing down from the belfry. “For his sake, I hope he learns to keep his mouth shut.”
And then they were at the top of the stairs. They both paused and straightened their dusty clothing. Then Mirage raised one hand and knocked.
“Come in,” Jaguar called.
He didn’t look surprised to see them. Of course not; knowing him, he’d known they were approaching before they even spoke to Viper. Silverfire’s Grandmaster had not earned his position by being a stupid or inattentive man.
Mirage and Eclipse saluted him. He stood and returned it, master to student, then sat once more. “Stand free,” he said.
They stationed their fed apart and clasped their hands behind their backs. No one really relaxed in Jaguar’s presence, even with permission; it just wasn’t possible.
Jaguar eyed them for a moment, then nodded. “Start talking.”
Miryo wished she could sleep. It would make the time pass more quickly. But despite being exhausted by the trip, she could not seem to fall asleep. It was too early, and she had too much on her mind.
She didn’t dare go down and socialize in the common room. Aside from concerns about her disguise, it didn’t remotely fit the persona she’d adopted, that of a young woman with pretensions to rank. Neither could she chat with the maid, even supposing she wanted to. She started to review spells in her head—a reflex left from the crush of the days before her test—but she immediately started to reach for power, and cut herself off, sweating.
Crone have mercy. It’s getting harder to resist.
The brief taste from that night in the wood had only sharpened her longing for magic. Which she ought to have expected. It was logical, really.
But logic did nothing to soften the bite.
Miryo paced the room for some time before finally stopping, swearing, and kneeling to pray.
Goddess. Please, oh please, hear my prayers.
Help me hold on. I can’t give in now, not when we maybe have a chance to make this better.
Or have I got it wrong? Maybe this really is the way you intended things to be. I feel like there should be another answer, but every time I look, I feel like I’m slamming my head against a brick wall.
Thinking about that put an uneasy feeling in Miryo’s stomach. What if she and Mirage failed? What would it mean? None of the options were reassuring. It might mean that the answer had been there, and they had simply been too stupid to see it in time. Or perhaps the Goddess intended for things to change, but not at their hands. Or the Goddess liked things the way they were.
Separation and death, a denial of the self—I can’t believe that.
Miryo firmed her jaw. I’ve committed myself to this path, Goddess. So either give me the strength to see it through, or convince me that I’m wrong.
It was more a demand than a prayer, but it hardened her resolve, and maybe that was enough.
“We think we know who the Wolfstar is,” Jaguar began when they were done with their report. “They have one, twenty-nine years old, named Wraith. He hadn’t done much to earn his name, or so we thought until recently. It seems he inherited in full measure the Wolfstar tendency to hide his tracks. But only for a while. After enough time has passed, he feels free to boast.”
“Boast?” Mirage said, not bothering to hide her contempt. “When you’re an assassin? That’s stupid. It’s not as if there’s a limited term on revenge.”
“He’s aware of that,” Jaguar said dryly. “It came out in this last year that he was behind the death of Lady Anade of Razi. Tangle, Cano’s Cloudhawk, went after him; he had a personal attachment to the late Lady. Wraith killed him a few months ago.”
Mirage whistled soundlessly. She knew of Tangle; he was one of Cloudhawk’s gems. And if Wraith was twenty-nine, he had to have killed Anade when he was just twenty-one. Her fight with him took on a whole new light—not that it excused her losing him in Vilardi.
“He’ll come after you,” Jaguar said. “You, Mirage, are far too distinctive to fight unmasked and not be recognized. Now that he knows you’re on his trail, he will be coming for you.” The Grandmaster’s eyes were unforgiving as he looked at her. “He’s your concern. We’ll do nothing to help you against him. You knew when you took the commission that it entailed Hunting the Hunter responsible.”
“I understand,” Mirage said calmly. He may be good, but I nearly had him in Vilardi. He’ll not escape again. “We weren’t looking for aid there.”
Jaguar nodded; he would never have expected another answer. Silverfire Hunters were taught to handle their own problems whenever humanly possible. “To the remainder of the commission, then. What do you plan to do?”
“We’ll tell our employer about our suspicions,” Eclipse said. “In person, if we can arrange it; I don’t like this communication at a distance. I want to see her face—whichever one of them it is—when we tell her.”
“And then what do you expect?”
“Not sure,” Mirage replied. “I get the impression that our employers are few; I don’t think they’d look so hunted if they had numbers on their side. Who their opponents are, and how many, and how powerful, we don’t know. That’ll affect how much trouble we face.”
“We’re Silverfires, though, and that should count for something,” Eclipse added. “Even if there’s trouble between our employers and the Wolfstar’s, they may acknowledge Hunter neutrality and leave us out of it. We aren’t bonded to anyone; we do the job we were hired for, impartially.”
Mirage could not have said what it was that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Jaguar’s expression gave nothing away. If he reacted, it was with no motion larger than an infinitesimal flicker of an eyelid. But something got her hackles up, and she gave the Grandmaster a hard look.
“We are impartial, aren’t we?” she asked him. “Unless there’s a reason you picked us.”
Jaguar dropped his eyes to his desk. It was as close to looking guilty as she’d ever seen him. After an excruciating pause, he said, “It was Tari-nakana that brought you here.”
Mirage carefully unclenched her hands and flexed the tension out of her fingers before replying. “I thought that was arranged by my company leader.”
“It was arranged with her. Tari-nakana—Tari-nai at the time—proposed it in the first place, and negotiated with me to accept you here.”