“Where do you get these toys?” Kit said, delighted.
“I know an alchemist,” Gyre said, closing the firelighter.
He realized, abruptly, that he didn’t have a clue what to do next. They were standing at the end of a dingy alley. A single lamp provided the only light, throwing Kit in profile as she leaned her head back and squeezed her nose.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“I’ve had worse.” She looked down her bloody nose at him. “You?”
Gyre touched his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know how to break this to you,” Kit said, producing a handkerchief from somewhere, “but your scar is coming off.”
“My—” Gyre explored his cheek more thoroughly and found that the pasted-on scar was indeed falling apart where the Auxie had punched him. Damn. He slapped a hand over it, feeling stupid, and turned away.
“I imagine that’s why you usually wear a mask,” Kit went on. “More durable.”
Gyre froze.
“You are Halfmask, aren’t you?” She cocked her head, still holding the handkerchief to her nose.
“That depends,” Gyre said. He turned back, hand behind his back creeping to the handle of another knife.
“On what?”
“On who’s asking.”
“Oh.” She swept her arm out and performed a wide bow, inadvertently letting a stream of blood patter on the stone. “Kitsraea Doomseeker, at your service.”
“Kitsraea—” He stopped. “You sent me that note?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“And you kissed me?” His lips tingled. He’d almost forgotten that part.
“It seemed like a good way to start a fight.”
“Why?”
“So that I could see if you could handle yourself,” Kit said. “You have no idea how many people don’t live up to their reputations.”
Gyre’s hand clenched into a fist. “This was a test.”
“And you passed! With flying colors.” She looked admiringly back at the Wreckage. “I was not expecting that, I must say.”
“What did you think I was going to do?”
“Start killing people, frankly. Isn’t that your line of work?”
“I …” He shook his head. “It feels impolite to kill people on their day off. Even Auxies.”
Kit barked a laugh. She lowered the handkerchief, waited a moment to see if the blood would resume, then tossed the soiled fabric over the edge. It fluttered down into the Pit, drifting lazily on the updrafts.
“So now what?” Gyre said.
“Now I have a proposition for you,” Kit said. “I’ll be in touch, the same way as last time. It won’t be long.”
“But—”
“Thank you, sir, for a very informative evening.” She bowed again. “Good luck with the scar!”
Before Gyre could say another word, she was gone, trotting past the lamp and vanishing into the shadows. Gyre prodded the torn edge of his paste scar with one finger, then tore the whole thing off and tossed it over the cliff. He scratched the real scar underneath, which was a blessed relief.
Okay. What in the name of all the Chosen was that?
Chapter 5
This time, Maya arrived at Baselanthus’ office early.
She knocked on his door, shifting uncomfortably in her rarely used formal tunic and trousers. It felt like a long time before anyone answered, and she fancied she could hear the low buzz of conversation.
Finally, Basel said, “Maya? Come in, please.” Maya opened the door, her posture stiffly correct, and gave him a precise bow.
She and Jaedia had always maintained a friendly, informal relationship. But she had no idea if the same would be true in this new assignment, and after what her mentor had told her, Maya was determined to give the Council no cause to criticize her performance. If they think they’re going to be able to use me against her, they’ve got another thing coming.
When she straightened up, Maya saw that Basel was not alone behind his huge, cluttered desk. On one side of the old man sat Kyriliarch Nicomidi, whom she’d met on her last visit. He cut a dashing figure, well-groomed dark hair swept back from a sharp widow’s peak, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes. His chair was angled slightly away from Baselanthus’, and something in his tight features and the way he sat spoke volumes about the tension between them.
At the other end of the desk was another centarch, even older than Basel. He sported a long, bushy beard and fiery orange-red hair a few shades lighter than Maya’s own crimson. The rest of his face was nearly lost in the tangle, leaving his eyes as bright points of purple. As far as Maya could see, he wasn’t wearing any identifying colors, but he leaned back in his chair, completely at ease, and she guessed he had to be another Council member.
“Kyriliarchs,” Maya said. “I am reporting as ordered.”
“Indeed you are,” Basel said. “Kyriliarch Nicomidi tells me you’ve met?”
“Only briefly.” Maya directed a bow in his direction.
“And this,” Basel went on, “is Kyriliarch Prodominus.”
Prodominus. Now, there was a name Maya had heard before. The oldest member of the Council was simultaneously a legend and a joke, famed for his youthful exploits and ridiculed for his devotion to an impossible cause. Alone of the twelve Kyriliarchs, he stood apart from both Pragmatics and Dogmatics, instead declaring himself a Revivalist. This group insisted that some of the Chosen were still in hiding somewhere, and the real purpose of the Twilight Order was to cleanse the world of the Plague so they could return to power. In the early days of the Order they had been powerful, but the Revivalists had dwindled as the centuries passed, until they consisted of only Prodominus and a handful of oddballs.
She bowed to him as well, as respectfully as she knew how. “It’s an honor, Kyriliarch. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“That I’m a senile old fool who wastes Order gold on pointless quests, no doubt.” Prodominus grinned hugely under his beard. “No need for flattery, Agathios. My taste for it has worn thin.”
Nicomidi muttered something that sounded like, “Not thin enough.” If Prodominus heard, he didn’t comment. Baselanthus cleared his throat.
“As you know,” he said, “with Centarch Jaedia urgently needed elsewhere, the Council has agreed that you will be given an independent assignment. This is somewhat irregular at such short notice, but we have reviewed your records”—his eyes flicked to Nicomidi, and he frowned briefly—“and we believe you are ready.”
“Thank you, Kyriliarch. I’m honored by your trust.”
“If you insist on being honored by everything, it’s going to be a long interview,” Prodominus said.
“I …” Maya paused, nonplussed. “I apologize, Kyriliarch.”
Nicomidi rolled his eyes and glared at Prodominus. “If you could keep your prodigious wit under control?”
“In any event,” Baselanthus said irritably, “you will be serving on a team with Agathios Tanax and two support trainees. Have you met Tanax?”
“No, Kyriliarch,” Maya said.