"This is incredibly awkward, isn't it?"
Jordan grunted. Jeorge sat across from him, cross-legged like he was on Yddris's floor, his wings hunched up around him like a bulky overcoat. For once, the Angel had lost his haughty composure and sat shivering and miserable, a pile of documents untouched before him. Jordan's own work, a reading of the Firebull section in his Guide to Demons, also lay untouched. For a minute, the only sound was Ren's claws scrabbling on the floorboards as she chased a string ball around.
"Are you going to faint?" Jordan finally asked, probably with all the tact of a farting demon, but Jeorge did look ghastly when he raised his head and the light streaming through the window illuminated his face.
"No." Jeorge rubbed his temple, almost like a nervous tic. "I can't promise I won't scream, though."
"Yeah." Jordan felt a twinge of sympathy. "Gets like that sometimes."
"I'm just...very uncertain that I'll actually be able to...to turn it down." Jeorge's voice wobbled. "I have no control over it at all. What makes this any different?"
Jordan had long experience of having no control over things, but his magic was one thing he was starting to feel he had some agency with. He thought about how loud the current had been when he'd first manifested, even with Yddris helping him, and winced at the idea of never being able to tune that out.
"Perhaps it'll fade when the wound heals," he suggested, though he wasn't so sure of that. Nictaven didn't tend to retract its offers.
"It's getting worse as the wound heals," Jeorge said plaintively, and to that Jordan didn't have an answer.
The front door opened and closed, letting in a gust of cool air. A familiar crackle preceded Yddris, who stood for a moment in the hallway entrance and then grunted. "You two look happy."
"Wonder why that could be," Jeorge said bitingly.
Jordan couldn't help scowling either, though he rarely found his own sentiments echoing Jeorge's. The whole business with the strange blade seemed to have knocked a few of Nerahardt's edges off, but he got along with Yddris as badly as ever. And right now, Jordan wasn't feeling much more warmly.
"A word, boy." Yddris beckoned, and then swept through the room. His footsteps sounded on the attic stairs.
Jordan set his book aside and got up, trying to rein in the surge of frustration that welled up. It had become quickly apparent that Jeorge had no idea what was going on between Nova and Grace, so pestering him had been fruitless. Instead, Yddris had left Jordan to stew for the afternoon in his own desperation, Nova's words having plunged his thoughts into the worst kind of spirals. What had Grace done that upset Nova so much? His sister was so hot-headed that it could be any number of things; he could only hope it wasn't as bad as he was starting to think.
Contrary to all his discussion with Jeorge about how the Gift worked and how to control it – the Angel seemed so anxious about it he hadn't had the heart to refuse – his own magic was boiling at the surface by the time he reached the top of the stairs.
"If you're not going to tell me what the fuck is going on, I don't want to hear it," he muttered, kicking the trapdoor shut behind him and facing his tutor across the room. There was already a cloud of blackweed from his tutor's pipe; Jordan's palms set up such a distracting itch at the smell that he growled and pulled out his own pouch.
"Boy..."
"No." He knew that tone. Nika used it all the time when he was about to dodge a conversation he didn't want to have. Or didn't think Jordan should hear. "You tell me, or I go back down."
He shoved the cigarette between his lips and lit it with a trembling flame. Sparks ran across his skin with the effort of keeping it from exploding into a blaze and all his limbs were tremoring with warning.
"She's asked me not to."
Jordan paused on the inhale and choked on a lungful of smoke. Eyes streaming, he glared at Yddris across the room. "I don't care. At this point, I don't fucking care. If I need to know...if she's...if she's in danger..."
"She's not," Yddris said sharply. "Boy, I would hope you didn't think so little of me as to imagine I'd stand by if she was in serious danger."
"Is it to do with Harkenn?" Yddris hesitated, and that was all he needed. "Of course it's fucking Harkenn. He gave his word. We signed a contract..."
"He hasn't laid a hand on her." Yddris words were flat and firm, cutting Jordan off. "He hasn't touched her, boy. I'll swear on whatever name will make you happy that it was entirely her decision. She did not have to take his offer. She wasn't forced into anything."
"Nika's," Jordan snapped, before he could think it through.
Yddris flinched like he'd taken a physical blow. When he spoke, his voice was cold. "Fine. I swear on it." A pause. "And I'll thank you never to leverage that again. You have no idea how much trust we have put in you to keep it to yourself. Don't fucking push it."
Jordan nodded. It was apparent that Yddris wasn't going to betray Grace's wishes – fine. He'd get it from Grace.
Somehow.
He turned on his heel and stalked to the trapdoor. Yddris made no move to stop him as he flung it open and hurried down the stairs.
Anger and guilt churned in his gut as he stalked out of the house minutes later, his bag slung over his shoulder and Ren chirruping inside his hood. He knew he'd crossed a line by using Nika's name like that, but he couldn't find it in himself to forgive Yddris's refusal to tell him. Not after everything he'd been through to keep Grace safe. Perhaps Harkenn hadn't physically touched her, but that didn't mean she was safe from him. It wasn't like Harkenn didn't know how to get to her; like he wasn't capable of framing a command as a generous offer. Nova didn't seem the type to be furious over something trifling. And if it wasn't something she knew he wouldn't like, Grace would already have told him. She certainly wouldn't have asked Yddris to keep him in the dark.
He wandered without aim for a while, powered by churning rage and a desperate urge to just be away. To calm down his threatening tremors by keeping his limbs active. When his temper began to ebb, he slowed. His feet had brought him to the river. At this point in the city, the streets were raised well above water level; below him the docks rumbled with the last of the day's workers.
It was a short walk to the bridge, a slope down into increasingly small and ramshackle homes. The last few streets before any bridge that was still traversable to the dead quarter were always semi-abandoned, so he ducked into an unoccupied cottage with no windows and a collapsed door to change into his Devil blacks. Arlen hadn't summoned him for days, and Jordan was beginning to feel like it might be in his interests to double check that he hadn't fucked up irretrievably. Having both his teachers pissed off with him felt oddly like walking a tightrope. One was his best chance of protection for both him and Grace, and the other...was, admittedly, a murder hobo with serious emotional issues, but one who hopefully didn't at this moment want to murder him.
Arlen's new house was a longer walk from this bridge than his old one had been. He stopped at the far side and glanced back up at the streets known as the Fingers. He fancied he could see Yddris's house from here, just about, and almost turned around in a sudden wash of contrition, when a voice spoke behind him.
"Well, isn't this a surprise." Ashe sauntered from the shadows of a nearby building. She grinned, dark eyes glittering as she held up a slip of paper. "I was just coming to deliver this and you fall right into my lap. So to speak."
He chose to ignore the suggestive lilt in her tone. "He wants me to come?"
She cocked her head, and he realised he'd sounded a mite too relieved. "You done something wrong, magic boy?"
"I...no. Of course not. I don't think so." He frowned. Then Arlen hadn't told Ashe – potentially not anyone in the group – what had happened with Silas in the alley. He wasn't sure whether he was more relieved or ashamed.
He checked himself; there was nothing to be ashamed of in not killing someone. Night take him, he didn't want Arlen's approval. He wouldn't get it from doing anything honourable, and he was only doing the bare minimum to stay alive long enough to escape.
He still couldn't deny that a weight had lifted from his gut as Ashe turned, with one lingering suspicious look, and led the way through the gloomy streets towards Arlen's home. It wasn't dark yet, but the streets of the dead quarter never seemed to catch as much light as anywhere else in the city, never seemed to get warm, always seemed to have more shadows than the light allowed for. Ashe stalked ahead of him, a small knife flickering in one hand as she twirled it. Her chopped hair had grown down to her shoulders, and she moved with a sensuous, predatory sway that was hypnotic. He blinked. Ashe scared the living shit out of him. He could only blame the distraction on not having had skin to skin contact in...he blinked. He genuinely couldn't remember.
Like he needed more depressing thoughts this evening.
He hurried to catch up with her. "What's going on? It's been days."
"He'll tell you," she replied shortly, glancing around them as if nervous. "And what's got you charging over here so eagerly?"
"I..." I just found myself here, really. He didn't enjoy the Devils' company, but he also didn't want to be trapped in with Yddris's anger and Jeorge's misery, unable to stop worrying about what Grace might have agreed to. He knew he was being unfair, considering everything he had kept from her in the past year, but he couldn't help the foreboding churning in his gut. Appeasing Arlen was only an excuse. He was here because he wanted to pretend everything else wasn't happening.
He clenched his trembling fists as Arlen's house came into view. Candlelight flickered in the upper windows through gaps in the window slats. Jesper lounged near the door, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the sky. As they approached, he looked down and grinned.
"Alright, Cal?" he said, slouching away from the wall. "Been missing your face void around here."
Jordan snorted. "Face void? That's what you're going with?"
Jesper shrugged. "S what it looks like, bud. Were you headed over anyway?" He frowned. "Something up? Don't usually pay us a social visit."
Jordan couldn't quite believe it either. "I guess there's a first for everything."
"Aw," Ashe drawled, drawing a finger down his arm. Then she cackled and headed inside, calling as she went, "Arl, someone's been missing you."
"Fuck you on about?" Arlen's voice growled faintly from above as Jordan stepped through the doorway, wincing. His reasons for coming were mixed, but he certainly hadn't missed Arlen. More accurately he'd been worried his teacher might do something extreme next time they saw each other.
Ren whined next to his ear, and he cursed silently. He hadn't been thinking when he left, or he wouldn't have brought Ren. Arlen didn't like her, and while Jordan didn't think the assassin would act on it, there was no telling.
"You better stay put," he whispered, turning and nudging her further back with his nose. "And stay quiet."
He found Jesper watching him. The man just winked and tapped the side of his nose before bounding up the stairs after Ashe. Jordan followed more slowly as the effects of his argument with Yddris and the hard walk through the city started coming home to roost. He'd been a fool to come when he was angry. Arlen was already displeased with the state of his health; if he collapsed now, after what had happened with Silas...
But those thoughts were only making it worse. By the time he was halfway up, his feet weren't obeying him like they should have been.
"Fuck's sake," he whispered.
"Need a hand?" A shadow fell over him and he glanced up to find Darin watching him from the top of the stairs.
"Just a minute," he mumbled.
"Don't be stubborn." Usk's huge form almost entirely blocked out the light as he came down the stairs and hooked a huge arm under Jordan's armpits. His face heated as he stumbled the rest of the way with the Varthian's help and found himself dumped unceremoniously in a chair. His heels drummed on the floor as his legs twitched. He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, waiting for the betraying flash of metal over his tongue, but it never came. Relief flooded through him.
A scraping sound drew his head back up. Arlen sat back in his chair, leaving the bottle of nettle wine at Jordan's elbow. The assassin's face was unreadable, mouth a flat line and gaze steady. That there was no immediate sign of displeasure wasn't necessarily a good thing.
"Don't be precious," he grunted, when Jordan eyed the bottle, making no move to take it.
He took a few hesitant swigs. Nettle wine wasn't an unpleasant taste; sharper than he was expecting, and a note that was not entirely unlike he'd imagine grass to taste like. It was better on the second swallow, coating his tongue with a spicy kind of warmth that settled in his belly.
Arlen snatched the bottle from the table when Jordan put it down, and took a long draught himself. "Ashe tells me you were most of the way here."
Jordan swallowed, and looked around for the first time. Almost the whole crew was present, with the exception of Akiva. They were all watching him, and he was startled to find that most of them looked concerned.
"Yeah," he croaked. He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, covering a subtle nudge to keep Ren inside his hood. "I was."
"Something happened?"
"No. Yes. Not..." he trailed off, frustrated. "I just got sick of things. That's all."
He expected Arlen to press the point and braced himself; if he knew Jordan had fallen out with Yddris, he would only gloat over it. But the assassin seemed distracted. "You stable?"
"I think so." The wine was settling into his extremities. He pulled out his blackweed pouch and began rolling another. "Why?"
They all exchanged a glance. Jordan lowered the cigarette from his mouth as his stomach sank. He should've known it was foolish to expect anything predictable here.
"I found out who it was you overheard," Arlen said, after a long pause. "Met with them. And we have a strategy." His gaze was piercing. "I want to know if you're going to stand by your word, kid. I need everyone to play the roles I give them, and if you can't do that..." His jaw set. Jordan suddenly felt cold all over. The threat lay unsaid between them. Arlen couldn't kill him, but he could make Jordan's life miserable. He could threaten Grace. Jordan was not stupid enough to think that Arlen would hesitate to do so, and the sudden reminder of the danger he was constantly in around this man was like a dousing of cold water.
"I said I would," he said, and prayed his sudden fear didn't tell in his voice.
Arlen narrowed his eyes. "But can you?"
I don't know. No. Yes. Because I have to.
He swallowed. Couldn't force out more than a hoarse whisper. "I said I would."
He wished it felt less like signing his own death warrant. It seemed like another lifetime that he had made that deal with Arlen, risking his own neck to save a man who...his thoughts faltered. A man who had a contract with his sister, contents unknown, but bad enough to shatter her relationship. Rage spiralled up from his gut at the injustice of it. What had he done to deserve all this? Been in the wrong place at the wrong time, born in the wrong world with the wrong genetics, falling into another world that had just begun going wrong the minute he fucking got there.
"Hey." Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face. He saw the room through a sea of bright emerald, saw Darin looking pale and wide-eyed just beyond the reach of the flames.
The flames.
Fuck.
"Shit on it," he muttered. "Sorry. Sorry." With a gargantuan effort, he drew his magic back in, static racing across his skin as it fought to get loose again. With a sinking stomach, he spotted Arlen's sour face across the table, staring out a puffed-up, growling Ren. That doused his magic more effectively than anything. He snatched her up, detaching her claws from the wood of the table with a faint scraping sound and bundling her into his lap. "Did I get anyone?"
"You're bloody lucky you didn't," Arlen snapped. "What the fuck is going on with you, kid? You tapping out before anything's even happened, that it? Think you're making some kind of point?"
"No." Jordan buried his fingers in Ren's fur, scratching gently to calm her down. "I'm not making any point. I just wasn't concentrating." He glanced at Darin, who still looked sallow. It was to him he directed his apology. "Sorry."
Darin gave him the ghost of a smile, which was a relief – Jordan still felt guilty over their first meeting. It was something of a miracle that Darin had ever forgiven him for almost incinerating them both.
"Then what?" Arlen looked even more displeased, if that was possible. "Why are you really here, kid?"
Jordan swallowed. This was hardly the confessional he'd wish for, but Arlen had no loyalty to Harkenn; hated him as much if not more than Jordan did. Whenever he spoke to Yddris about these things, there was always a line the Unspoken would not cross, a loyalty he didn't seem willing to explain. Jordan had an ally in him, to a point. A point that was starting to look very limiting.
"Harkenn," he said, and stopped. He tried again. "Harkenn got Grace to agree to something. And no one will tell me what."
"Ah." Arlen sat back. "The sister. Again." He cocked his head. "Is there any limit to your killing yourself over that girl?"
"No," Jordan said sharply. A flame flickered across his hand that he doused with a clenched fist. Then he immediately regretted it; this was definitely not the right confessional for conviction like that.
"And this is a bad thing, I take it? Or you would not be threatening to set my house on fire."
"If it was a good thing, I would know already."
"You want a scout?" Akiva had appeared at some point during the conversation, and now lounged against the stairs railing. He grinned. A bag of something swung at his side that Jordan chose not to look at too closely. "I can scout."
Jordan glanced at Arlen, who twitched an eyebrow. "You want me to read your mind, kid? Kiv's offering. Yes or no."
"But..."
"If it'll get your head back in the right space for this, then just let him." Arlen's cheek ticked. "I'm done dancing around the point. You need to know so you can focus? Then Kiv will get you the info. Then you concentrate. I need to know you aren't going to get us all fucking killed." He leaned in. "If Marick gets even a whiff of this, you're the first place he'll go for information. And you have a gaping weak spot, boy. You are not going to get us all killed for that girl. You get me?"
Jordan swallowed. He couldn't make himself speak. The thought of Marick hounding him for insider information had turned his guts to jelly. A second thought, just as bad; what if Harkenn's offer to Grace had put her in more danger, and Jordan didn't know? He couldn't think how it would, but he also couldn't think what it was.
He still felt like the shittiest person alive for nodding, not at Arlen, but at Akiva.
"No lavatories," he said. Akiva's smile soured even as Usk gave a great snort.
"That was one time."
"I'm meeting Markus tomorrow," Arlen said, unamused as he cut through the conversation. Jordan's heart sank impossibly further. "If you come, would you keep a lid on things?"
"I can't," Jordan blurted.
Arlen's mouth tightened dangerously. "Can't or won't?"
"Can't." If his face got any hotter he was going to set the table ablaze. "Markus hates me."
"You fucking what." Arlen blinked, furious. "Why? How have you even met the mad bastard?"
"I..." Jordan looked around. He wasn't sure what for – an escape, maybe. "I kicked him in the balls once."
Stunned silence.
"I...I know he wouldn't have seen my face," Jordan stammered. "But he might recognise my voice. And then he'd know who I was and who I'm apprenticed to, and that could fuck everything, Arlen, I can't..."
"Fine." Arlen cut across him. "No meeting. But also...what the fuck, kid? Even Marick would think twice before doing something that mad."
"He manhandled Grace."
Usk let out a low whistle.
Jesper chuckled. "I'm re-evaluating everything I know about you now, Cal. Not sure if I'm re-evaluating your balls or your sanity, but...wow."
To Jordan's surprise, Arlen laughed. He laughed harder than Jordan had ever heard, and even Usk looked startled.
"I knew it," the assassin finally sighed. "Fucking knew you had a spine in there somewhere." He pointed a finger. "You do that again while I need him on side and I'll nail yours to the floor, but..." a rogue chuckle escaped, "I think we can all agree that he needed it. Nict." He wiped his eyes. "Usk, chuck him that bag of blackweed just for giving me a fucking good laugh. And now..." a sigh, "business, I suppose."
Copies of this story anywhere other than the site mentioned above as exclusive are illegal and may pose a risk to your device. If you would like to continue reading this story, please go to my authorised profile on the authorised site.
Regards,
Elinor (S E Harrison/giveitameaning)