“Kasamor?” Rosa’s eyes didn’t leave her opponents’ swords. “I’m not agreeing to this.”
“Not your decision, Rosa,” he replied. “Set down your blade.”
She swore under her breath and let it fall.
“But let’s be clear.” Kasamor leaned close to Aske, his voice taking on a most un-Kasamoresque harshness. “You’re not done hearing ghosts. I’ll make whatever pact the Raven demands. My cyraeth will be back for your soul before my body’s cold. It’ll haunt you as only a restless spirit can. And you, my bitter little hag, will wish you’d never heard my name.”
Aske flinched. Her throat bobbed.
Kasamor straightened. His sword clattered to the ground.
“Are we doing this or not? It’s not polite to keep a man waiting.”
A yelp sounded at the mouth of the alley. The thud of a falling body followed, and a choked scream close behind. Malachi’s anger and shame bubbled away, replaced by giddy elation. Beside him, he felt Rosa tense as the sallow man fumbled for his sword.
Kasamor laughed and shook his head. “Decided to join us, did you?”
Even bereft of armour, Viktor Akadra cut an imposing figure in the confines of the passage. A head taller than Kasamor, nearly two taller than Malachi himself, he radiated unconcern. A hearthguard dangled like a toy from one massive fist. The fellow squalled and struggled, though Viktor seemed unaware he was even under attack. He cuffed his captive about the head and let the unconscious fellow fall atop his luckless companion. The black velvet of his cloak twitched at his heels.
“Some of us had duties.”
Aske Tarev’s face went ashen grey. Of course she knew of Viktor’s reputation. It was a rare soul that didn’t. The hero of Gathra’s Field. The man who’d slain the traitor Katya Trelan. The Council’s champion.
The last of Rosa’s erstwhile opponents spun to face the new threat.
Rosa dived for her sword. The sallow man started forward, hearth-guards at his back. Aske set her sword-point to Kasamor’s belly.
“Don’t even think about . . .”
Malachi pushed off the wall and flung his arms about Aske’s shoulders. Impact knocked the sword from her hand, and most of the breath from his body. The alley lurched. Then the strike of filthy cobbles sucked the rest of Malachi’s breath away. But still he clung tight, and weathered blows from elbows and boots as she fought to break loose. For the first moment since entering the alley, he wasn’t useless.
The moment passed, as all moments do – this one with an elbow to the gut that left him sucking for breath as commotion reigned about him. With a cry of triumph, Aske scrambled free on hands and knees.
Vision blurring, Malachi crawled in pursuit. He tried not to think about what he was crawling through. As Aske’s hand closed around her sword, he sprang. The blade hissed over his head and, for the second time that night, they went down in a tangle of arms and legs. This time, Malachi ended up on top.
A hand closed about the scruff of his collar, hauling him up and away.
“Easy, councillor,” said Viktor. “Her comrades have fled. She’s had enough.”
Malachi hadn’t the breath to reply.
“Enough?” Kasamor stalked back down the alley. Of the sallow man and his two hearthguards, there was no sign. “Not nearly.”
He kicked Aske’s sword out of reach and hoisted her upright. “Trying to kill me? That’s one thing. But threatening my friends?”
A hard shove sent Aske stumbling against the wall. Her eyes shone in defiance of Kasamor’s sword at her throat. Malachi had seen that look in the Council chamber many times. She’d gambled and lost. Of course, it was a rare day when a councillor staked his or her life as she had.
“Let her go.” To Malachi’s surprise, the words were his.
Kasamor rounded on him, eyes ablaze. “She tried to kill you.”
“And she failed.” The justification rang hollow in Malachi’s ears, so he strove for a better one. “Hand her over to the constabulary. She’ll stand trial.”
Kasamor shook his head. “You believe that?”
Thundering boots heralded Rosa’s return from deeper along the alley. Cheeks flushed from exertion, she stumbled to a halt. “Lost them halfway to the Hayadra Grove. Could be anywhere by now. What did I miss?”
Viktor folded his arms and propped a shoulder against the dray yard wall. “Kasamor’s about to murder Lady Tarev. Or maybe he isn’t.”
“You think I shouldn’t?” The harshness had returned to Kasamor’s voice. “Would you?”
“She’d already be dead.” Malachi couldn’t tell whether Viktor was joking. His friend’s face seldom gave away more than he wanted, and the old scar on his left cheek lent bleak mirth to most expressions. “But we’re talking about you.”
“Do it, or don’t,” hissed Aske. “I’m not your toy. I’ll not beg.”
“She’s right, Kas.” Rosa aimed a kick at one of the unconscious hearthguards. “If we linger, someone’s going to see something we’d rather they didn’t.”
By Malachi’s reckoning, that was one vote for Aske’s death, one against and . . . whatever Viktor’s opinion was. Did he alone see that killing Aske would only worsen matters? But Kasamor had the casting vote, and the sword, and a measure of wounded pride into the bargain. Appealing to that pride might achieve what reason would not.
“She owes you an apology,” Malachi muttered.
Kasamor’s head dipped. He gave a weary snort. “She does, doesn’t she?”
The low rumble of Viktor’s laughter echoed along the alley. Rosa rolled her eyes. Malachi eased a sigh.
Kasamor’s eyes met Aske’s. “So which is it to be, Lady Tarev? The apology, or the sword?”
She swallowed. “I . . . I apologise . . .”
Kasamor’s sword twitched. A trickle of blood broke Aske’s skin.
“‘I apologise for naming Calenne Trelan a whore’,” he said.
“That’s how this started?” muttered Viktor.
Malachi nodded. “That’s how it started.”
Viktor grunted and withdrew.
“I apologise for naming Calenne Trelan a whore.” Aske’s defiance gave way to a glare of pure venom.
Kasamor warmed to his theme. “‘And I see now that jealousy guided my tongue more than any good sense.’”
“And I see now that jealousy guided my tongue more than any good sense.” Aske ground out the words from behind gritted teeth.
Kasamor leaned closer. “Now, take off your sword belt. Then you can go.”
Hands fumbled at the buckle. Belt and scabbard smacked to the ground. Kasamor grinned and lowered his sword.
“My thanks, Lady Tarev, for a wonderful evening.”
Face once again impassive, her shoulders set beneath a burden of fragile dignity, Aske shoved her way past Kasamor.
Viktor’s hand brought her to a halt. He stooped and whispered into her ear, speaking so softly that Malachi couldn’t make out the words. Then Viktor straightened, and Aske was on her way once more – if a touch more unsteady than before.
“What did you tell her?” Rosa asked.