Night of Masks and Knives: Book 1 – Chapter 8

Raum and Tova crouched next to me in the Strom gardens.

″This is it, lovey,” Raum said. He called me lovey enough I was beginning to wonder if he knew my name or not. “Here we are. You better be good for it.”

″I am.” I recalled Sigurd’s warning to be craftier than the Kryv. I’d need to be sly. A balance of give and take, but no matter what, I needed to remember they were the guild of the Nightrender. Remaining with the Kryv meant I’d face the bloody ghost everyone feared.

We’d huddled at Sigurd’s until midnight. Planning, resting, and distrusting each other. Sometime in the night Tova tossed me a tunic and trousers. I didn’t know where she came by the clothes, but I was more like a Kryv in them.

Elof had left to gather more of the guild, and I was turned over to the watch of Raum and Tova. We’d wandered forest trails back to House Strom. If the guild wanted me to pay them, then I’d need the memories.

I wouldn’t be returning to House Strom. Something inside told me this was the last night, so I added to the risk, and made plans to take supplies for my new existence. Wherever it was about to take me.

The trouble with my plan was the best supplies were inside the longhouse. A place I wasn’t welcome.

Tova emerged from between two rowan trees and pulled a hood over her head. “What’s taking so long?”

″Nothing. I’ll meet you at the stables.”

″Hurry,” she snapped.

Raum winked playfully before he disappeared with Tova into the shadows. I sprinted up the pebbled drive to a side door the servants used. Two bulky servants stood near a fire pit twenty paces off, warming their hands and laughing as they kept watch over the Strom household.

I ducked behind a fragrant hedge even if they’d likely think nothing of it should they see my face.

Strange sneaking like a thief on land I’d worked for turns. But the Black Palace had House Strom in its sights.

Elof might’ve had a point. I’d been foolish to draw attention to myself in front of skydguard collecting an Alver for the masquerade. Not to mention the last few turns I’d grown reckless with my mesmer.

Odds were it would only be a matter of time before the Lord Magnate discovered the stepdaughter in the hayloft was more powerful than the Strom son they’d snatched. He would take his frustrations out on the whole household.

For the sake of a family who did not truly care for me, I would need to leave for good.

I didn’t think it would hurt as it did. Like a hot knife carving out my heart.

When the servants turned away to add more twigs to their small fire, I scurried to the door and stepped inside.

The narrow corridor was warm from pine smoke billowing off the inglenook in the great room. Roasted eel and buttered carrots with parsnips from supper left my insides wanting.

Each corridor in the house led to the great room. Wicker chairs surrounded the oak table in the center, always set with silver plates and ewers of wine and brӓn for guests. The stone inglenook arched to the ceiling; the flames licked at a heavy spit in the center where meats were roasted daily.

I snagged a leather satchel servants used to gather roots and vegetables, and filled it with a few bread rolls, fish jerky, and a flacon of the sweet ale Bard loved so much.

At the scuffle of feet, I hurried to a narrow nook filled with fur cloaks, woolen cowls, and capes. I took what I could. A woolen cap and tunic, a fur stole, and hand coverings made of leather for when the frosts came.

My hand brushed against the smooth, polished surface of my stepfather’s ashwood lockbox he kept tucked in the back.

Doubtless the box would be packed in penge. I licked my lips. No. I couldn’t. Then again, how could I begin anew without a copper to my name?

My hands shook as I removed a slender pick made of fishbone from my braid.

Three turns ago, I’d ventured into the shanties in town where, for a bit of penge, cutpurses were happy to teach a girl how to pick a lock. The sensation of bolts, levers, mechanisms, and crossing forbidden barriers thrilled me.

I’d depend on touch to work. Any light was too great a risk. I held my breath until my hands steadied, then leveraged the fishbone in the keyhole.

Two breaths. Three.

The lock clicked.

I wasted no time and lifted the lid.

By the skies. Stacks of paper penge, skin purses of coin, gemstones, jade, ivory, a small treasury was mine for the taking. Likely half belonged to the coffers of the Masque av Aska. There was nothing between me and taking some for myself.

Gods forgive me.

With silent, swift hands, I dug into the wealth, taking a few stacks of penge, and one coin purse. Satchel tucked under one arm, I left the nook and hurried back to the side door aimed at the stable. I used the shadows of trees as cover from any servants who might catch a glimpse of me. Or worse—Bard and Jens.

At the stables, Raum and Tova had crouched behind a water barrel, only standing when I came into view.

″Ready?” Raum asked.

″Almost. A few more things, and we can leave.” I still needed to get the memories, but didn’t want to let on how close they stood to them. Even if they could not use them, giving over control of my bone dust vials left my stomach turned upside down in sick.

With the Kryv outside, I climbed the ladder. The loft held little to my name. A few tunics, some trousers, one tattered skirt for the annual fete, and Asger. I hid the stuffed horse and my clothes beneath the penge in the satchel. Hells, if the Kryv ever learned I stole away with a child’s toy, they’d probably toss me into the Howl, thinking I was too mad to be handled.

I slipped out the back way of the stables, checking once to make sure Tova and Raum hadn’t followed. Night mists gathered, cold and thick, as I bent into a crouch at a large feedbox. A heavy gray stone guarded a hole beneath the box. I dropped to my knees and rolled the stone away.

I did not take a risk hiding these in the hayloft. Not with so many servants skulking about day after day.

With wet mornings and approaching rains, the soil had thickened and swallowed what I’d hidden. I dug through the grime and silken mud until my fingers curled around the slick corner of the pine memory box.

But when I lifted the lid, a chill cut to my bones. Where were my vials? Frantically, I clawed at the damp earth again, searching. Nothing.

My throat tightened, but I did not have time to fret long before angry hands grabbed the back of my neck.

A scream scraped out as Bard tossed me away from the feedbox into a heap of mud and clay.

″Looking for these, Malin?” My stepbrother’s face was guarded but for the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. At his side were three Black Palace skydguard, blades ready.

″Bard.” I grimaced when he held up a basket packed with the bone dust vials. “Those are mine.”

Bard had a way of remaining composed, cold, and frighteningly unbothered by anything. “Unfortunately, after Hagen’s imprisonment, the Lord Magnate thought it prudent to inspect our grounds for any more suspicious behavior. Afraid some of those tricky potions from his Elixists found strange mesmer here.”

″Those are nothing but ash.” I prayed to gods who never listened to the likes of me, prayed to any humanity in Bard’s heart. If the skydguard discovered what I could do, I would get my first wish—I’d join Hagen in the bowels of the Masque av Aska.

″Doesn’t do any good to lie.” Bard’s jaw hardened. “They figured out your scheme. Stealing from Anomalies? Tsk-tsk little mouse.”

What was he talking about? Bard knew I did not steal these from another Alver. Was he covering for me turning me over at the same time?

At my silence, Bard let out a rough, raspy laugh. “Who knew I had such wretched siblings. I’ll write you both from the sagas of House Strom myself.”

″Bard, please.” I reached for him, but a skydguard moved swifter. My breath caught in the back of my throat when his heavy boot smashed into my ribs.

I rolled onto my shoulder, trying to find a bit of breath, when another guard gripped my hair.

″No!” I cried out against the white, hot pain sliding up my side. “Bard, please! I can help him; I can save him. Don’t do this.”

″I did nothing. To do something would mean I was brought in on any plans, not left in the bleeding dark.” With a pained glare, Bard dropped the basket of vials and turned away, leaving me to face my fate with the skydguard.

″As an unregistered Alver, you are requested to face your Lord Magnate Ivar,” one guard said, reaching for me.

″No!” I’d be turned into a monster. I didn’t know how Ivar did it, but the Alvers of the Black Palace served only the Lord Magnate.

They lived for him. Killed for him.

A skydguard kicked me again, silencing my cries.

I thought of the Kryv. Would they still go for Hagen if they found me dead? I could plead for my stepfather, but when a skydguard began fettering my wrists behind my back, I was as stone, hard and cold. Hatred was blinding. For the gods. For fate. For myself.

A crash came from the front of the stables. The sound of doors clattering, then the scrape of feet on gravel. Common sounds, but it drew the attention of the skydguard. One guard left to peer around the stables; one breath later he cried out in agony, crumbling to the ground.

The other two guards dropped me and rushed for their companion.

Before I overthought too much, I snatched the basket of vials, and scrambled to my feet. I raced for the front of the stables, but fumbled when two more skydguard materialized from the longhouse.

I ignored the demands for me to halt when a skydguard remembered they had a prisoner. Back at the feedbox, a mute scream lodged in my throat.

The three skydguard who’d arrived with Bard were sprawled across the dirt, twisted in odd angles. Throats bloodied.

Raum, Tova, and a third Kryv I didn’t know, hovered over the bodies, dark stains on their knives, sweat on their brows.

Tova met my gaze for half a breath. I couldn’t move.

When the rush of new skydguard at my back shouted the alarm, the pause in chaos was over.

Blades raised once more, the Kryv attacked like a dark flood.