dare to describe me as a captive when you know nothing of what transpires here at the Ark!” Her long eyes narrowed. “And do not speak to me of Hira. Where was Hira when I was taken? Where was the Citadel Guard when I was sampled by Talisman commanders before I was sold behind the Wall? He killed every man who touched me, did you know? It was slow and cruel and beautiful, and he encouraged me to watch.”
A bitter smile lifted the corners of her crimson lips. “He has never touched me himself. If an Ahdath looks at me, he kills him on the spot. He taught me, he trained me—and he placed me above every member of his Ahdath, even the Crimson Watch. He saved me as Hira declined to do, when the High Companion abandoned me to my fate. Now I am his forever.”
There were so many things Arian could have said in response, so many dreams that had materialized into loss at Lania’s words. She had guessed at the fate Lania described. But she wondered at the construction Lania had placed on the Authoritan’s actions. Surely her sister could not believe that the Authoritan was responsible for her deliverance.
“I did not abandon you,” she said after some thought.
“Yes, I know.” Lania came to her feet. She rang a bell on the table, and two of her doves came to do her bidding. They brought her heavy gold robe. She raised her arms, standing slim and straight so they could close it over her dress. Her hair was arranged in an imperiously high coiffure, a selection of pearls woven through it. The headdress came next, fastened to her chignon and supported by the weighty collar at her neck. One of her attendants attached a veil to the headdress; the other took up a brush to darken her mistress’s eyebrows.
Lania held herself still throughout. A trace of affection underlined her words. “I know you defied the High Companion—you nearly broke with Hira because of your love for me. Each Talisman soldier you killed was a man you imagined had harmed me. Each woman you freed from a slave-chain was to atone for not having saved me. You blamed yourself for being rescued while I was taken by wolves.”
Tears shimmered in Arian’s bright eyes, turning them to crystal.
Lania’s smile sharpened. “You are beautiful, indeed, little sister.” She didn’t offer her approval.
“How do you know this?” Arian asked. “How could you know any of this?”
Lania reached up a hand to adjust the feathered plumes of her headdress. “You forget what you have learned here, Arian. The Authoritan told you himself. He trained me as his Augur.”
Arian took a breath. As much as she sought a weakness in Lania as a means of escape, she was entrapped by her memories of her sister. She needed to untangle the past. “If you knew—if you envisioned my search through your Augury, why did you never come for me? Why didn’t you let me know you were safe behind the Wall?”
Lania turned back to her mirror. Satisfied with what she beheld, she dismissed her attendants with a wave. From the table, she picked up Arian’s collar and measured it between her hands. A ring-bedecked finger beckoned Arian closer. “You still don’t understand me, little sister.”
She snapped the collar in place, choking off Arian’s gifts.
“You searched for me because you loved me. But I have always hated you.”
RUKH REFASTENED HIS ARMOR, NODDING TO HIS CAPTAINS TO LEAD THE way. He glanced at the Assassin, who kept pace at his side. The man’s movements were stealthy, dangerous, his footsteps making no sound and leaving no trace behind him.
“Will your men not accompany me to Ashfall?”
“You do not require them at Ashfall, Excellency. What you require is a means to break through Talisman lines.”
The Black Khan and the Assassin climbed to the top of the Eagle’s Nest for a vantage point over the Talisman army. Both men were cloaked in black, camouflaged against the night.
“You give me only a dozen men. I asked for ten times that number.”
“They are assassins,” Hasbah said, as if that were all the explanation needed.
Rukh’s snort of exasperation communicated his dissent.
“They will not be leading a charge through the enemy’s ranks, Excellency.”
“No?” The sky held little light, the campfires of the Talisman flaring up like matchsticks in the distance. The air was cold, its bite cruel, with turbulent clouds massed in smoky clumps overhead. The Black Khan feared for his horses. “What is their task, then?”
“I have dispatched them to their task. Twelve men for the twelve encampments spread across the plains. They will assassinate the commanders. It will throw the Talisman army into disarray. Your road ahead will be clear.” His gloved fingers stroked his bare chin.
Rukh considered his words. “I know your men are skilled, but you set them a fatal task.”
Hasbah bowed. “That is their mission. They will not fail.”
“They will die!” Rukh snapped. “Your best-trained men, used as so much fodder.” He wished he could see the other man’s eyes, to read his mood or his certainty. He wished he could believe that he hadn’t consigned the safety of his city to a devil.
“I have many others,” Hasbah answered him. “Trained with the same skills, loyal to the same end, loyal to me and this fortress.”
Rukh reined in his anger. To expose his emotion was a weakness—better to think and plan with cold, determined purpose. He needed the Assassin, and perhaps there was some viability to his plan. He had never failed the Black Khan, and yet … “The dead have no loyalty, old friend. The dead cherish only themselves.”
“You need not fear,” Hasbah said. “There is a thirteenth man as well.”
Rukh flashed the Assassin a sharp look. “What purpose does he serve?”
“The thirteenth man is an archer. He will bring down their hawks before they call for reinforcements.”
It was a good plan, he thought. It helped that he had witnessed firsthand the fanaticism of Hasbah’s followers. Whatever command he issued—even to the detriment of their own lives—they followed without hesitation. Perhaps Hasbah’s indifference to such recklessness should have troubled him more than it did, but he couldn’t afford to reconsider. The situation in Ashfall was perilous: the sooner he bore the Bloodprint back to the safety of his capital, the sooner he could begin his defense of the west. Hasbah’s hour with the manuscript had elapsed. The Assassin had done nothing more than study it, his gloved hands leafing through its pages, until he came to a verse that held him spellbound.
Another puzzle. What knowledge did Hasbah possess of the Claim? Was he an assassin or a librarian? Or both—the needs of one weighed against the deadly skill of the other.
Rukh thought of the trove of manuscripts in the limestone chamber. He hadn’t asked to see them, and Hasbah hadn’t offered him the choice. He wondered now if his lack of curiosity had been a mistake. Had he missed something that could be turned to his own advantage? His men were gathered at the base of the mountain, provisioned and impatient to be off. He had little time to wait on the answers he needed to find, but he ventured a question. “What did you seek in the Bloodprint?”
The Assassin clasped his gloved hands at his waist. “I sought a key, Shahenshah.”
The Black Khan frowned. Perhaps Hasbah meant to divert him with the title King of Kings. He enjoyed flattery as a commonplace due to a prince, but he kept at the forefront of his mind the favors the flatterer sought. “A key to what, precisely?”
Again that fleeting smile touched the Assassin’s lips. “Your enemies are my enemies, Shahenshah. Thus I sought a key to the Rising Nineteen.”
Rukh subdued a sense of panic. “The Rising