No matter how he might try to escape her control, only death would free Garret from his sister. He cursed the immortality of the Fae. “I will always be here for you.”
“I will let you have your silly half-breed.” Mabb sat up, wiping her eyes. “But not tonight.”
“Why not?” Garret demanded, then forced a more neutral tone. If he angered her it would undo all the painstaking work he had just done. “You understand I am eager to tell her the joyous news.”
Turned to stone once again, Mabb glided across the room to the writing desk. She withdrew a sheet of parchment, sealed by her own hand and addressed to Ayla. “She has an assignment.”
“Then I shall deliver it to her.” He turned to go, eager to see what fresh torment his sister had laid upon his student—no, he thought, my mate, and that cheered him some—and how he might manage to avoid it.
“Deliver it to her, and then return to me.” Mabb settled onto her bed, though she had only just risen from it. “And send in my healers. This argument has taken a grave toll on me. I so detest this family strife.”
“I will return to you,” he promised warily. “But I will take Ayla as my mate tonight. I have waited long enough.”
Mabb laughed at this, a sound like crystals singing. “You assume she will have you.”
“She will.” Of that, he was more than certain. He hadn’t spent the past five years grooming her to be his only to allow her to refuse him.
He tucked the assignment into his robes and left his sister to play the part of the invalid. In the antechamber he dispensed curt orders for Mabb’s healers and ladies-in-waiting, then fled the stifling order of the Palace altogether. No space in the Underground was big enough for him now that his heart soared with joy for the victory he had won. By morning, Ayla would be his mate, declared before the council and consummated in his bed. The anticipation spurred his steps faster on his way to the Assassins’ Guild.
Six
Though Ayla did not get much sleep, what she did manage was deep, and she felt rested enough when she rose from her narrow bunk. It was far too late in the day for a trip to Sanctuary. If she went now, she would miss the chance to report before the Guild Master and pay for it later. She bathed in the cistern and scrubbed the blood and grime from her pants and vest. Sanctuary could wait, but her report could not.
Or her conversation with Garret. She’d decided on her course of action regarding her failure in the Darkworld, without the guidance of prayer. She would tell him the truth, or at least the brand she found it easiest to sell to him. She had been weak, foolish and not intending harm. He might rage a bit, but in the end he would forgive her and smooth things over both with the Guild Master and the Queene. It was not the most honorable way, asking Garret to excuse foibles she was certain she did not have, but perhaps her lie was for the best. It afforded her a fresh start. The promise she’d broken to the Guild and to herself would mend in time, through her actions and personal discipline.
This was the thought she intentionally circled through her mind as she headed to the Great Hall.
The Great Hall of the Assassins’ Guild was crowded for this afternoon’s assembly. Beneath the high-reaching cement columns that used to arch over the heads of Human travelers hurrying to their trains, Faeries, Elves, Orcs and Dwarves milled in their own clusters. Some sat on the rows of benches in the center of the room, waiting for their turn to report. Others were Guild Members and courtiers who had nothing to report but liked to listen to the grisly recounts to be “in the know.” The best gossip came from the Guilds, or so Ayla had heard. Mabb had increased the number of assignments in the past days to combat the growing threat of the Darkworld forces infiltrating the Lightworld. There were rumors already of Darkworld Assassins stealing across the border and striking lone sentries. Retaliatory strikes were called for, though the Assassins often grumbled that the cycle would never cease. Ayla did not listen to such criticisms. Her place was to follow the Queene’s orders, not question them.
Pushing through the larger-than-usual throng, Ayla caught sight of Garret’s dark head. He spoke with another mentor, and appeared to be in high spirits. The Faery smiled and bowed to Garret, and he clapped him on the back with a wide grin. Ayla wondered what could have caused such joy in her mentor, then she spied the folded parchment in his hand and the Queene’s seal upon it.
An assignment! Ayla’s heart swelled. From Garret’s apparent elation, it was an important one, as well. And why shouldn’t he be pleased that his student finally received her due? The mentor who had been speaking with Garret noticed Ayla. He motioned toward her, catching Garret’s attention. When he turned and spied her there, his smile grew even larger, if possible. “Ayla, I have wonderful news.”
As he approached and the mentor withdrew, Ayla’s mind wandered back to the reason she’d sought him out in the first place, and her heart sank. For a moment she wondered if she should take the new assignment and confess after, but no, she would then have to recant her report to the Guild Master and her credibility would be lessened. Before he could speak again, she blurted, “I did not fulfill my last assignment.”
“What?” Garret grasped her arms, his face twisted in shock and anger. He collected himself and glanced over at a group of Faeries that stood near them, then guided her firmly to an alcove at the back of the hall. Though Ayla noticed no one watching their retreat, Garret kept a distracted eye on the assembly. “Ayla, you told me—”
“I know what I told you!” She lowered her voice, ashamed at herself for having raised it to her mentor. “There was another creature who got to him first. A Death Angel. I fled.”
Garret sighed heavily, smoothing his antennae back. “Ayla, I have trained you far better than that. Were you wounded? Are you certain it was a Death Angel?”
She thought of the bruises marring her shoulder and thanked the Gods for the darkness of the alcove. “No, I was not wounded. And I know what I saw. It was a Death Angel.”
Garret’s face paled, white as Ayla imagined the moon would be. “Gods. Then the stories are true?”
She could do little more than nod in answer. This was a turn she did not imagine events to take. It had never occurred to her she might be the first Lightworlder to catch a glimpse of such a creature and live.
“You’ll have to report this at once.” Garret’s face lit up, then fell again. “You didn’t kill it?”
“I…I did something to him. I do not believe I killed him outright.” Her guilty mind assailed her with the image of the Darkling lying on the ledge where she’d left him. “But he will not survive.”
“I will take this information to Cedric privately. Do not make a report today.” Garret reached for her, running his hands down her arms affectionately. “It would have been better if you were injured. But I do not think Cedric will rule that you’ve broken the geis, given the circumstances.”
As he turned to leave her, she called after him. “You said you had news?”
“Yes.” He tapped the parchment against his palm, seemingly unaware of it even being there. “But first I must speak with Cedric. Go to Sanctuary, use the time to calm yourself, then come to my home tonight. We will discuss it there.”
With that, he strode away from her, leaving her disappointed and alone.
Seven
The true foulness of the Darkworld had never seemed so raw to Malachi as it did when he left the Bio-mech’s workshop. When Keller swung open the thick, metal door and stepped down into the nearly waist-deep sewage, Malachi’s mortal throat had closed on a gag.
“Listen, I know it doesn’t seem real sanitary, but that’s the price I pay for such roomy digs. Get your ass down here before something comes along and swallows me whole.” Keller reached his hand up, and Malachi had little to do but accept it.
“Is that a danger?” The water