It’s not long before the half-light shows figures, little more than silhouettes against the window, entering. Three of them. Bigger than Ahmose, all wrapped in iunctii white. I see long, thin shapes in their hands, catch the glint of brass. They’re scanning the room, but the darkness has kept me hidden and the closest man has his back to me.
My mind races. I only imbued Ahmose with a small amount of Will—hereluctantly agreed to it as an emergency measure to communicate, the first day we found ourselves in Netiqret’s home—but I also had him keep one of my Vitaeria, in case he had to escape through the tunnels and back past the poison mists below the Infernis. And I know from Qabr that I can use a iunctus to imbue Will in an object, regardless of whether they’ve been through the Aurora Columnae.
I step soundlessly forward, touch the nearest intruder on the neck, and use Ahmose to Harmonically imbue him.
“Give me your sword,” I whisper, Ahmose’s voice odd in my—his—ears. “And then protect me.”
None of the usual sense of connection, and for an instant I panic at the lack. But then, I never felt it with regular imbuing, either. It’s Ahmose’s mind doing the work, now, not mine.
The other men are already turning as the iunctus hands his blade over without hesitation. It’s a sickle-shaped sabre. I’m not accustomed to the style, but it’s better than nothing.
The remaining two iunctii have seen me but I don’t give them a chance to go on the offensive; I dive and slash at the closest as the iunctus I’ve just commanded crashes into the other one, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a furious mess of flailing limbs. Metal abruptly protrudes through the back of my temporary ally. It doesn’t stop his struggling.
It’s an unnerving fight, from there. Awkward and mostly mute. I’m slower, unused to Ahmose’s proportions and strength, but the iunctii are unskilled. The one I’m engaged with thrusts but it’s simple and direct, no subtlety to the attack; I see it coming in time to slide around it and slice hard at his wrist. Hand and blade hit the ground together.
I close quickly, not allowing the maimed man a chance to react with more than a groan before thrusting my blade up, through his mouth and into his brain. He crumples. I don’t pause, extracting the sabre and bending to swing hard at the iunctus grappling on the floor near me. The bronze bites into his cheek, his eye; he thrashes and moans and I hack again, no skill to the motion, just intent. This time the metal penetrates. He flops, and is still.
The final iunctus, the one with the blade still protruding through him, is on the floor. Staring up at me, the other one’s half-removed head on its shoulder, unsettlingly little blood seeping from it in the semi-darkness.
I hurriedly command Ahmose to command him again. “Answer truthfully and fully. Are there any more of you?”
“No.”
“Am I in any further danger?”
“No.”
I exhale.
“Ahmose,” I eventually have Ahmose say aloud, “I am going to give up control now. I’ll be back soon. Find somewhere to hide until then.” I adjust his grip on the bronze sabre, and spear the final iunctus through the ear.
I open my eyes.
NETIQRET IS INFURIATINGLY NONCHALANT AS WE MAKEour way back to her house.
My blood still throbs in time to the lingering thud of Ahmose’s heart. It’s all I can do to focus on my guide’s movements, her pacing, as we ghost through the crowd. All I can do not to wreck our anonymity and explode at her.
“A test, Siamun. Just a test,” was all she said to me as I stared at her, hands twitching to fists, the sickly green of the Infernis flowing by behind her. “I had to be sure of some things, before we proceeded.”
Confusion and anger and the heat of battle warred to be let out, and I almost did and danger be damned. But she was watching me too closely. Too expectantly. A test, yes. But one that wasn’t over. This was as much about my character. My temperament. And with the possibility of an Overseer around every corner, even a loud remonstrance was a risk.
“I had tokillthem,” I eventually snarled.
“They were already dead, young one,” was her sober reply.
A year ago, I would have walked away. Collected Ahmose and walked away and gods damn the consequences, confident I could make it on my own.
But Obiteum has shaped me into something less prideful, more practical. And responsibility has made me readier to suppress my rage. Responsibility to Ahmose. To Caeror. To my friends in Res. Gods, even my enemies there.
“I need your word, Netiqret.” I said it to the space between us, unable to look at her. Strained almost to breaking. “Ahmose remains unharmed. If you try and hurt him again, any deal you may want with me is finished.”
Chain your anger in the dark, and it will only grow.
But sometimes chains are the only way.
She nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. “You have it.” She leaned forward and for the first time in her regal smile, I saw her occupation embedded in her brown eyes. “But Siamun? Don’t ever tell me no again.”
I study her now as we slip invisible through the throngs. A woman accustomed to control. A woman who needs it, I think. That makes sense, given her vocation. It’s why I gave an appropriately reluctant nod to her last demand. She is used to getting her way. I’ve no intention of letting her have it, but for now, she will believe her point made.
