“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.
47
Thessa took Ekhi to a park near the hotel. It wasn’t a proper break – just an hour to get away from the hotel and, as Pari had put it, allow her mind to start a new cycle – but she didn’t know just how much she needed it until she was standing beneath a gnarled old olive tree with Ekhi perched on her glove, the sun shining through the branches to mottle shadows upon them both. Her carriage driver and a single Grappo bodyguard stood nearby. She was not going to allow a repeat of that assault at the Lampshade Boardwalk.
Ekhi flapped his injured wing experimentally. It was clear that he would need a lot more time before he could fly again, but he seemed pleased to be away from the mews. He screeched, dancing about on her glove, occasionally trying to fly. Thessa watched for his signal and kept a firm grip on his jesses to curtail any attempts.
“You,” she told him softly, stroking a finger down his chest, “need to let yourself heal before you get too adventurous.”
He screeched back at her and tried to flap.
“I know, I know! It’s good to be out. When I return from the Forge I promise I’ll take you to the countryside. You might not be able to fly for a long while, but you need fresh air just as much as I do.” She wondered if his hunting instincts would flag during his convalescence. Perhaps she could arrange for some injured mice for him to pounce on at their next trip to the park.
She walked around the perimeter of the park, holding her gloved arm high to give Ekhi the best perch, enjoying the way that his eyes seemed to track every little movement. Thessa allowed her mind to wander, wondering if she and Ekhi were now a permanent fixture at the Hyacinth. Was that their home now? She had a partnership and a contract, though only regarding the phoenix channel. She could get rich from the phoenix channel and then break away, starting her own glassworks. She could truly be independent. Or she could romance Demir and secure her future in a different way. It was a decision she would have to make eventually.
Was he even looking for romance? Was she? They’d known each other for so little time, perhaps she was getting ahead of herself with fanciful thoughts of being the next Lady Grappo. She snorted. No, she wasn’t getting ahead of herself. This was Ossa, where romance was a business transaction. Ending up with someone you genuinely liked was a luxury, so why not consider it seriously?
Which brought her back around to Demir. Was he interested in more than a little fun? Would he reject her outright? He was a guild-family patriarch and a glassdancer. He could have his pick of guild-family heirs or foreign princesses; of women who could benefit him more long-term. Thessa waffled back and forth, feeling at a loss. None of this mattered until he returned from the war. It might not even matter until she’d completed and tested the phoenix channel.