The Deathless. Peter Newman
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or his next target isn’t Rochant.
Pari rushed outside and noticed a speck of blood, glinting in the gemlight of the corridor. She went in the direction the assassin had gone, finding another speck some way further down. Whatever wound he’d received was bleeding slowly, making a poor tracking aid, but it confirmed she was going the right way.
She ran, wondering where in the name of the Three Blessed Suns any of House Sapphire’s guards were. Their absence now seemed glaring, ominous rather than fortunate.
A soft thud sounded from one of the rooms behind her. She slid to a stop, backtracked three paces until she was level with the door, and went straight in.
The assassin was kneeling, bent over a baby’s crib, his right hand raised and curled around something she couldn’t make out through the gloom. The thud she’d heard had been his head being banged against the side of the crib by the woman on his back.
Even in the half light, Pari could tell the woman was highborn, her skinny arms sticking from her flapping nightdress like sticks from a sail.
By some miracle, the baby wasn’t crying, making Pari fear she was too late a second time.
With a grunt, the assassin drove his elbow backwards into the noblewoman’s gut. She bucked with the force but kept hold, knocking his head against the crib a second time. The assassin elbowed her again, then brought his fist up into the woman’s face.
Pari was halfway across the room as the woman fell down.
She considered her opponent, as yet unaware of her arrival. He looked young, fast and strong. Closer now, she could just make out another of those long murderous needles in his grip.
Not someone to play games with.
Though her body was not as fast as it once was, her instincts remained sharp, and Pari let them guide her, flowing into action before her conscious mind fully understood what she was about to do.
She reached out to his raised hand and plucked the needle from it. His reaction was swift, one fist lashing out on instinct. Pari barely managed to get her arms in the way in time. The force of the blow slammed into her, bruising forearms, and she tripped on the other woman’s leg, stumbling back to the far wall for support. Before she could recover her breath the assassin was leaping after her, one hand raised, index and middle fingers locked together ready to strike.
His movements suggested that his hand-to-hand training was excellent, at least as good as one could be in a single lifetime. In a younger body, she would have dealt with him easily, now most of her efforts were going into staying upright.
As if he sensed her fatigue, the assassin lunged forward but Pari, still leaning against the wall, showed him her empty hands before giving her best smile and flicking a look to his throat.
The gesture made him pause. His eyes widened as his fingers touched the side of his neck and the needle protruding from it.
He just had time to look at her in understanding before something seemed to switch off inside, and he collapsed to the floor.
Pari pushed herself upright and moved to the side of the crib, rubbing her arm. It turned out that the baby had woken after all, his eyes staring up at her, two black pools in the grey.
‘Well,’ she said, picking him up. ‘You’re a very calm fellow, aren’t you?’
The baby didn’t reply, watching her with intensity. The woman by Pari’s feet however, was another matter. ‘I know that voice … Pari? Lady Pari Tanzanite, is that you?’ At her nod, the woman became haughty. ‘I demand that you tell me what is going on this instant! Who was that man? Why was he trying to kill my Satyendra? And what are you doing here?’
Pari peered down at the woman, unflustered. Satyendra did the same. She saw a delicate face, the kind that smiles too rarely and was not built to handle tears. ‘All good questions …’ she paused to allow the woman to introduce herself.
‘Chandni.’
‘Can it be? Little Chandni, all grown up and an Honoured Mother! I never would have recognized you. Who is in charge here?’
‘I am,’ she replied, standing up and regaining something of her dignity. ‘Lord Rochant entrusted me to oversee the castle in his absence.’
‘My, my, it has been too long, my dear.’
‘You haven’t answered my questions.’
‘True,’ replied Pari, ‘and you haven’t thanked me for saving you and your baby either.’
‘I … thank you,’ said Chandni, then again more calmly, earnest. ‘Thank you.’
‘Much better. As to who the man is, I’m not sure yet. But he’s already killed at least twice tonight.’
Chandni took a fortifying breath. ‘Who?’
‘One was a girl, younger than you, the other her guardian.’
‘No!’ Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘It must be Dhruti. But why?’
‘She was a descendant of Lord Rochant.’
‘She was,’ Chandni’s eyes widened. ‘Like Satyendra!’
‘Yes –’ she replied, giving the baby a squeeze ‘– like Satyendra. How many more blood descendants are there in the castle?’
‘I …’
‘Come on, Chandni, think!’
‘Well, two. There’s Satyendra’s father, Mohit, and Kareem. But Kareem was chosen, he’s in the Rebirthing Chamber now.’
‘Show me Mohit’s room.’
A minute later they stood at Mohit’s bedside. There had been no guard to protect him and the needle in his neck was still quivering. Like the girl beforehand, Mohit’s death had been swift and, she hoped, painless.
‘He’s only just died. You know what this means?’ Pari asked, pointing at the needle.
Chandni covered her mouth and gasped behind her hand, ‘Poor Mohit. Quickly, turn Satyendra away.’
‘It means there’s a second killer, maybe more. The castle isn’t safe.’ She passed Satyendra back into Chandni’s arms. ‘You have to leave.’
‘What?’
‘Right now. Don’t stop to pack, take Satyendra and go, use the tunnel.’
‘What tunnel?’
‘I’ll show you. It’ll take you to the main doors.’ Pari took off one of her earrings. ‘I have a man outside, his name is Varg. Give him this,’ she said, and placed the earring into Chandni’s hand, ‘tell him I sent you. Tell him to get you as far away from here as he can.’ She kissed the baby’s forehead. ‘Keep Satyendra close. If things go badly, he might be Rochant’s last hope. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.’
‘Wait, where are you going?’
‘To the Rebirthing Chamber. Someone is trying to erase Rochant’s line, and I intend to stop them.’
Vasin’s mother stood before him. Wonderfully impossible. Though her body had been weathered and scarred, aged by time and sorrow, it didn’t matter. She was here! As purposeful as ever. Just the sight of her made him feel safer, as if things could begin making sense again. And yet, her very presence meant that the world did not make sense, and would not again.
‘They may take my title, strip me of my crystal skin, sever my link to the immortal, bury me with lies and hatred –’ she reached up to his face and he could not decide whether to move forward or back ‘– but I will always be your mother, I will always be yours, and you mine.’
She was also a traitor, accused and found guilty of selling out their people to the Wild. Treating with demons was a terrible crime in itself, but for a Deathless it was a thousand times worse,