“Hang on. You think what happened today was sabotage?” Sven shook his head. “No way. Not a winikin.” Even the rebels admitted that the Nightkeepers were humanity’s best chance of surviving the war.
“Rabbit said it didn’t feel like any magic he recognized. And they all got their bloodline marks, even without the ceremony. That says magic to me.”
“But… shit.” His brain raced even as his instincts kept saying, No way. “The First Father turned the slaves who escaped with him from Egypt into the winikin, right around when they came to this continent. That was way before the magic split into its light and dark halves. So whatever power they’ve got—if anything—would be related to the ancestral magic, which Rabbit would recognize.” He paused. “And even if you’re right and a winikin could summon those creatures, what would be the point? You said it yourself—they seemed to be targeting the winikin. Besides, if they were supposed to attack the Nightkeepers, why go after us this close to the end date? Are you saying you think one of the winikin is in league with the Banol Kax?” Because, shit, that was a hell of an accusation. One that, if it got out, would fuck any hope of solidarity.
“Not necessarily.” Dez was silent for a moment, no doubt deciding how much more to say. He and his mate, Reese, were as tight-lipped as they were brilliant strategists, and they formed a closed unit at the top of the hierarchy—some thought too closed at times. After a moment, though, he said, “Look at the history. A thousand years ago, the Xibalban sect split from the Nightkeepers and took the dark magic with them because they believed the Nightkeepers had it wrong, that the sky gods were the ones who wanted to take over the earth and the Banol Kax were the good guys, right?”
“So Rabbit would have us believe.” Ever since a run-in with a dying Xibalban shaman the year before, Rabbit had been trying to get the Nightkeepers to seriously consider that their long-ago ancestors had been tricked into believing in the sky gods. “You don’t think he’s been experimenting with dark magic again, do you?”
Dez shook his head. “No. My gut says he’s toeing the line. But who’s to say there’s not another group of Xibalbans out there? We went from thinking they all died out in the fifteen hundreds to thinking Iago and his red robes were the last of them… only to discover that Iago’s people were a nasty offshoot of an original, relatively peaceful sect. What if there’s another offshoot out there? And what if they got to one of the rebels?”
“I don’t see how that could be possible. Rabbit scoured the area a couple of years ago looking for information about his mother, and then did the rounds again when the xombi virus hit, trying to find a cure. If there were other magic users out there, he would’ve ID’d them by now.”
“We’re not in the highlands.” Dez gestured to the compound surrounding them. “What if there’s another group like us, more peaceful than Iago’s crowd, but that believes in the underworld as strongly as we believe in the sky gods?”
“We would’ve seen something by now, and you know it.” Sven paused. “So why are you hearing horses and trying to talk yourself into zebras?”
The king exhaled heavily. “Because we know how to fight the Xibalbans, and we could even handle a traitor or two… but the Banol Kax scare the crap out of me. If that’s what broke through here today, we’re in deep shit. So right now, yeah, I’m hoping for stripes.”
Sven wished he had a joke at the ready, one of the quick toss-off lines that used to come so easily for him. But those days were gone. Now he could only shake his head and say, “Better not let the others hear you talking like that. You’re our crazy-brave king who’s not afraid of anything.”
“Unless we get some more weapons in our arsenal, crazy-brave isn’t going to be enough.” Dez’s expression fell back into its usual resolute lines. “But we’ll soldier on and keep pushing the boundaries. It’s all we can do, right now.” He paused. “Which brings things back to you. Are you willing to lean on Carlos and Cara for intel on the winikin—especially the newcomers—without letting them know what you’re up to?”
Shit. He didn’t want to… but he could see the king’s point. “You’re not making it an order?”
Dez shook his head. “The way I see it, they’re the only family you’ve ever known, so I don’t want to force you to spy on them.” His lips quirked. “Besides, the last time I gave you a winikin-related order, things didn’t go exactly the way I had planned.”
After telling Cara that she was Jox’s chosen successor, Sven had given her the opportunity to bolt and she’d taken it. Then, a few weeks later, she showed up at Skywatch with the rebels… on her own terms.
Sven shrugged and pointed out, “She got here eventually.”
“Yes, she did, and I’m far better off with her willing cooperation than I would’ve been if I had forced her into the position. That’s why you’re getting a choice now.”
“What happens if I say no?”
“I’ll use Rabbit to eavesdrop. I don’t want to, though.”
“Christ,” Sven muttered, though Carlos had boxed his ears more than once early on for calling on the son of the Christians’ God. “It’d be a fucking train wreck if they figured out you mind-bent them to get information.” Bad enough if they caught wind that the king suspected them of treason. If they realized Rabbit was using his magical talents to spy on them telepathically… Shit. Twenty times worse. A hundred.
“Like I said, I don’t want to do it. But we can’t afford to have this blow up.”
Then don’t ask me to do it, Sven almost said, because gods knew he’d fucked up major assignments before, like the time he’d fumbled a translocation spell during a museum heist and Patience had wound up hurt. He’d gotten steadier since bonding with Mac, but he hadn’t been given any really sensitive tasks since then, either. Most of his assignments had been of the slash-and-burn variety. Or tracking. He and Mac together were hell on wheels finding shit, and it kept them on the move. But spying? And using Cara and Carlos to do it? He didn’t know about that.
“Why not ask someone else? There are plenty of others who are closer to their winikin than I am.” Hello, understatement.
“Because you also worked with JT down south, and you got along with him as well as anyone outside of the rebels has, which gives you connections in both camps. And besides”—a ghost of a smile touched Dez’s lips—“Reese and I agree that if Rabbit is our loose cannon, you’re our wild card. We have this feeling that you haven’t gotten to the bottom of yourself yet, and that if and when you do, big things could happen.”
“Big good, or big bad?”
The smile got real. “That’s the ‘wild’ part.” The king paused. “Do you gamble?”
Sven thought of winter nights, a fire in the hearth, and an ancient wagering game spread out on the kitchen table: the patolli, which was an ancestor of the modern Parcheesi, with rolls of the dice, figures moving around the board, and strategies of defense and offense. Carlos had used it to teach him war games; Cara had used it to win her way out of chores; and her mom, Essie, had just liked having the four of them together in one place. When the memory threatened to hit the nostalgia button, he set it firmly aside and shook his head. “Not for a long time.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to give it a shot.” The king stood. “Think about it and let me know.”
But as Sven strode away from the royal suite, with Mac at his heels and no real destination other than “away,” he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. If there was a problem—or worse, a traitor—it needed to be dealt with, and fast… but if there wasn’t, and it came out that he’d been getting close to Cara and Carlos to spy on the winikin, it wouldn’t be worth trying to fix those relationships. In fact, if that happened he might as well just hit the road and keep on going, because they—and especially she—would never speak to him again.