The man did, roughly but quickly. Inexpertly, too, in Teia’s opinion.
She could only wish that actually mattered. A vial of an antidote hidden in a body cavity sounded like a really great idea right about now.
“She’s clean,” the man said.
The Old Man pulled out a coin purse.
Teia waited. She had no idea if Muriel usually declined payment, so she didn’t push the act.
But she widened her eyes briefly, only to see paryl leaking from a shell around the nondescript man who’d just searched her. A Shadow.
A lousy one, obviously, from the spectral bleed she could see, and by the fact he hadn’t noticed she was a paryl drafter herself—though if she’d been holding paryl when he touched her, that would have gone very differently. This moron Shadow had just been yanking her around while he ‘searched’ her by shooting paryl through her clothing. He was too inexpert at keeping his spectrum tight enough to search her from any distance.
Well, lucky me, Teia thought. Watching carefully, she caught the flash of super-fine mail around the Old Man’s legs and wrists.
Some subtle paryl attack was not likely to get through that in time. She’d have to go straight through Grinwoody’s eyes for a clot in the brain.
But she’d already poisoned the wine. If she killed him now and thus revealed herself, who in the Order would dare to drink wine an assassin had mixed for them?
If she tried to kill Grinwoody now, she wouldn’t be killing anyone else. Patience, T.
The coin he pulled out was unlike any she had ever seen. Large, silver tarnished, dark except for the relief of a broken eye. The obverse showed nine crowns.
“Barricade your shop tonight, Muriel. The fun begins half an hour after dawn. If anyone attacks you or yours, you show them this.” Half an hour after dawn? That would be once the Sun Day parade was in full swing.
Which was insane. A battle was probably going to happen, and they were going ahead with the parade? She’d heard a dozen speculations for why on the streets—some with a more cynical take than Quentin’ s—that it was to keep the pilgrims from panicking, and that by honoring Orholam, they hoped to twist His arm into helping them. Others guessed that this way the Chromeria’s defenders knew exactly which streets would be free and which blocked by the crowds, or said that even though it was going to be much smaller than usual, the new Prism had demanded it.
Some kind of Order attack during that? Perfect. Just perfect.
But Teia nodded. She was already feeling fuzzy. Her stomach was several degrees past the warmth of a swig of brandy. That would be the alcohol and various drugs, she guessed, probably not the lacrimae sanguinis. Not yet.
Watching the wagons rattle away in various directions down the streets, leaving her in a crowd simultaneously tense and joyous, scared and jubilant, facing a holy day and an army intent on their annihilation, Teia couldn’t help but feel empty. In their hopes and fears, they were tonight connected with one another, with the whole city and the whole religion. They were about to face the greatest fight of their lives, but they were doing it together.
Teia’s fight was over. She was abandoned, alone, and not for the first time in the last year, unspeakably lonely.
Just as she’d vowed, she was going to finish her big mission. She was going to make a difference, forever. She was going to succeed; it was just that she’d be dead by the time it happened.
So you win after all, Murder Sharp. Or let’s call it a tie. But points to you for doing it the way the Order always does its best work. They couldn’t corrupt me until I helped them do the job. And you? You couldn’t kill me . . . until I helped.
Chapter 103
“Breaker! Sir! You need to wake up!”
Kip couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour. He sat up and started at the looming form of Big Leo standing over the bed. Tisis yelped. Kip might have yelped, too, but she was louder.
Thank you, honey.
“What’s going on?” Kip asked.
“My lord,” Big Leo said. “It’s Teia.”
“What?!”
“But she’s . . . not herself.”
“Get her in—” Kip started to say.
“I’m already here!” Teia said. She held her hands up in the air as if presenting herself for applause. Her face was flushed; her skin was glowing. Her lips were dry and her eyes were dilated.
“I couldn’t leave her out there,” Ferkudi said, poking his head in, apologetic. “She was hollering.”
“Wow,” Teia said as Kip got out of bed. Tottering on her feet, she stared at him appreciatively—even brazenly, considering his wife was right there—shoulders to abs to underclothes and back up. “You are looking good.” She rubbed her forehead. “Orholam’s balls, I am so high right now. This was not how I wanted to do this.”
He hurriedly pulled on his tunic and trousers.
“Teia, it’s so good to see you again,” Tisis said, coming around to Kip’s side of the bed. “How can we help you?”
“I am really sorry for glancing at your husband’s bulge,” Teia said. She winced. “I can’t believe I just said that. You have been so kind to me, and . . .”
For his part, Kip was looking at Tisis, who seemed utterly unperturbed.
“Can we get you some breakfast?” Tisis asked, as if Teia were an expected visitor in the morning. Tisis was wearing Kip’s favorite green silk negligee, the one whose straps had been torn off and mended several times. She calmly pulled a wrap around herself, and Kip felt a jolt of admiration for his bride’s cool calm. “Do you need medical attention?”
He knew how Tisis had felt about Teia in months past, but now she was choosing to see Teia as a young woman who was not in a good way, but also maybe not quite responsible for it. She saw Teia’s suffering, not her behavior.
It made him love her even more.
Teia covered her face with her hands, contorting with such shame and self-loathing it made Kip ache for her. She gestured toward Tisis. “Guess I don’t need to ask what you see in her, huh? All this and kind, too? Her hair even looks good. She’s been sleeping and her hair looks good. How does she do that? I bet she’s not even a murderer!”
“Teia?” Kip asked. This was not like her. He’d expected that she would change in the time they’d been apart, but even given that, this wasn’t her.
“The poppy’s wearing off,” Teia said. “I wanted it to, but . . .” Teia repeated curses under her breath for a few moments, then she looked up plaintively. “I just really wanted to see you, Kip. I’m sorry to be like this. I can’t even remember all I wanted to say to you, but I just really wanted to see you one last time.”
One last time? “Teia? What’s going on?”
She looked up at him, and her eyes filled with regret. “Kip, I’m dying.”
Chapter 104
Quentin had only two types of clothing now: the disgustingly rich and the obscenely wealthy. Either one would have nauseated the old him. Over the last year, he’d warred with himself every day as he’d slowly grown accustomed to the weight and wear of this garb.
As part of his punishment—being the example of a luxiat led astray by the world’s riches—he was forbidden to wear anything less expensive than his second-best set in public. In his rooms, he’d worn literal sackcloth for several months. Then, realizing that he was taking pride in mortifying his own flesh—O Pride, thou insidious beast!—he’d taken to wearing a fine but simple robe in private.