It was a transformation, but only halfway—so unlike the one he had to endure on a regular basis. Raed was abruptly glad that he had never had to experience a terrible in-between state like that.
Apparently however, his sympathy to it meant nothing. The creature surged forward, hissing like a snake. The Young Pretender didn’t want to find out if the creature bore poisoned fangs. He fired his pistol between his knees and directly into the onrushing thing’s face.
The scream it let out was most likely terrifying, but Raed couldn’t hear any of it because the retort of the gun in such a tight space set his head buzzing. Everything developed a murky strangeness to it after that. Through the smoke he could make out the shape of the Shin monstrosity, twisting and flailing around. So it seemed a gunshot to the face was at least painful.
Not planning to linger and find out, Raed dropped the pistol onto his chest, and kicked out with his feet and hands even more furiously in a scramble to get away. He passed a junction where three shafts met the one he’d been traveling in. Craning his neck from side to side, Raed determined two things: the passage to his left was the only one that tickled his face with the possibility of fresh air, and the others brought him only the sound of more skittering pursuit.
It wasn’t a decision he had to think long on. His pants were wearing through on the stone, and his fingertips were bleeding where they grasped at the unforgiving edges of the shaft. He was leaving plenty of scarlet drips behind for the Shin to follow, but he didn’t care. They already knew he was here, and they already had tasted the blood of his family.
The hisses and growls behind him said that the other monstrosities were catching up just as their companion had. Raed had to decide if he was going to stop and make a stand, or scramble on. He had only four regular bullets left, and he couldn’t be sure he’d even injured the halfling beast. The terrible truth was, he didn’t know exactly how many more of these things were after him.
The breeze on the top of Raed’s head was like a siren song now, and he wriggled harder, bracing his elbows, hands, knees and feet. He blocked out the pain as best he could and tried to also ignore the sweat mingling with his blood on the surface of the pipeline he was trapped in. If he could get out, then he would give those Shin peons a decent fight. He’d have a chance to unleash the Rossin—then they would pay.
So determined was he, that Raed shoved and thrust himself out of the horizontal shaft and half into the abrupt drop of the vertical one without even realizing it. With a lurch he discovered his sudden predicament, but much too late. He couldn’t brace himself with his legs alone as his chest and arms flailed.
To the sound of gleeful laughter and chattering, Raed Syndar Rossin tumbled into the unknown depths of the Shin fortress.
NINE
In the Sanctuary
Zofiya’s fingers tightened on Merrick’s as she drew him with her down the corridors. Most of the folk, both high and low were busy celebrating, yet her heart was pounding harder than any of theirs.
Her head was full of concerns for her brother—for the Empire itself—but she was also exhilarated by the nearness of the Deacon. Still, she told herself, she had good reason to bring him to her chambers. Good reason, yes indeed.
Her few maids had been dismissed to enjoy the evening, and as usual there were no sentries on her door. She was the head of the Imperial Guard and, as was her habit, had no one watching her apartments. If danger was coming to an Imperial sibling, she would rather it came to her than her brother. Now this worked to her advantage.
“Quick,” she said, tugging Merrick into her privy chamber. “This is the only place where I am sure it is safe to speak.” She pressed shut the redwood doors behind them. The room was quiet and lit only by two flickering sandalwood-scented candles in the sconces. None of her ladies had really been expecting her to return so soon. They were alone.
The doors on the other side of the rather sparse privy chamber were ajar, providing a glimpse of the far more opulent bedroom. Pride of place was a vast and silk-shrouded bed carved to resemble a ship. It was a ridiculous indulgence, but it was one of the few Zofiya allowed herself.
The young Deacon glanced around, his eyes slightly wider than usual, a sure sign he was using his Sight. “We do indeed appear to be alone.”
Zofiya shivered. When the Order used their powers so flippantly she was reminded how little she understood what they did. Certainly, they were invaluable in maintaining the integrity of the Empire, and giving the ordinary folk some reassurance that their grandmother was not going to vomit acid, but they were also a dangerous power.
As the Grand Duchess circled the room, trailing her hand over her trinkets, she watched Merrick Chambers out of the corner of her eye. The Order had done things that the Empire could only be grateful for, but she had always been cautious around them. Zofiya did not like how much power they wielded. Merrick was the only Deacon she actually had learned to trust.
“Tell me what you know about del Rue,” she commanded. Her hand now rested on an onyx box, but she did not reach in to take out what it contained. Not yet.
The Deacon took a breath, and his eyes darted away from hers. He was not a very good liar—even his expression gave him away.
Zofiya’s finger traced the sharp edge of the box. “Tell me,” she repeated, but this time not in her Grand Duchess voice. Instead, she whispered it—almost like a normal woman.
Merrick cleared his throat. “I am sure you know the history of the native Order that was here before my own.”
She tilted her head. She had been expecting something else—something related to a minor nobleman seeking advancement, or a Prince of the Empire annoyed at some petty oversight by her brother. When the Deacon mentioned history she was surprised, intrigued and just a little worried. Although the mysteries of the Order and its kind were not unknown to her, she was not foolish enough to believe that she knew everything about them.
When Zofiya did not speak, Merrick paused and glanced up. His eyes were dark pools in the half-light, and they were so very earnest. “We thought they were gone, wiped out and stricken from the records. Stranger still, there was no remnant in the oral tradition, and several of my own Order have suggested this was…deliberate. We knew they existed, but that is all.”
The concept that anyone could remove memories from the entire population of Arkaym was a terrifying one. And yet she had seen far more terrible things; recollections of when a geistlord had taken residence in her body welled up. She swallowed them back. “But you don’t think they have gone at all, do you?”
“I know they have not. I saw them beneath Chioma—they tried to take my mother from me.” He swallowed hard. “That man was leading them; the man you know as del Rue.”
While he talked in a calm, flat tone she flicked open the box and looked in. The shiny pendant inside gleamed back at her, almost mocking. It was the sigil of Hatipai—her greatest mistake. It was a reminder not to fail like that again. Her brother and the Empire were at stake.
“That is a concern,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry,” Merrick replied, and despite everything Zofiya smiled.
“How is that your fault, pray tell? The Empire is under constant attack every day. There is always someone trying to destroy my brother, unbalance the Princes, and cause mayhem.”
“Arkaym was not perhaps what you expected when you came over with your brother.” The Deacon took a step toward her, a rather telling step.