Spoils of War (Tales of the Apt Book 1) Adrian Tchaikovsky (good books to read for teens TXT) 📖

felled two of them, jagged spines lashing left and right, stingfire flying wide, and then he had carried them backwards, dancing through their midst, and the knot of fighting men swept from the cellar and back the way they had all come.

“On!” decided Tesse, and almost dragged Cordwick the other way. The hall was shorter than they had thought, though, and the room beyond lit only with two low oil lanterns, one hung beside each of the soldiers stationed there. Tesse and Cordwick shrank back but the men had not seen them. Nor had they left their post to investigate the fighting, sounds of which had now almost entirely died away.

Between them, her hands tied before her, was a Dragonfly-kinden woman in the rags of what had once been a very fine robe indeed. Her head was down, a cascade of dark hair hiding her face. Tesse’s hand tightened on Cordwick’s arm.

Even as they were creeping back towards the barrel-filled cellar someone passed them, unheralded and almost silent. Darien.

He did not glance at them. His eyes were for Nysse Ceann only. He barely glanced at the two Wasps as their stings flashed at him, as their swords clashed against his own. They were skilled, those two, hand-picked for the job, but he killed them nonetheless and barely noted them.

He spoke the woman’s name, and her head lifted. Cordwick was struck, even in the poor light, by how plainly-writ there was the quality that had captivated Darien and Evandter both.

The prince cut her bonds, kneeling to sever the ropes and then raise her to her feet. Tesse was trembling, clutching at the Beetle’s sleeve, but Cordwick made an abruptly puzzled sound despite himself. “I’d’ve locked her up in one of these cellars, myself,” he muttered philosophically, watching the two Dragonflies together.

And she stabbed him. In a single move, perfect in its power, speed and precision, the woman had rammed a blade hilt-deep under Darien’s armpit. In the moment of shock that followed, she dragged it out and plunged it, two-handed, past his collarbone. Darien’s mouth was wide, head thrown back, and his hands clawed briefly at the air as though trying to out-wrestle fate. He collapsed to his knees without a sound, toppled sideways, from hero to carrion without ever understanding what had befallen him.

Tesse twitched, and Cordwick grappled her, dragging her back, pulling her away and into the room with the barrels. He could feel her trying to scream, her body racked by silent convulsions, her mouth gaping like a drowning woman’s. Cordwick barely got her down behind the barrels before Nysse Ceann had walked in.

But it was not Ceann – or it was in the instant she stepped from the low, dark, hall, but then there was a man there, a Spider-kinden man no less, tearing the rags of a ruined robe from himself to reveal loose-fitting clothes beneath, such as an acrobat or actor might wear. The man’s hair was dark, but not the flowing mane Cordwick knew he had seen, and that face had nothing in it that recalled the prisoner-turned-murdereress. Yet it had been that woman who entered, and this man who now stood in her place.

Cordwick did his best, just then, to find a way to lie to himself about what he had seen, Later still, he would know that he had been mistaken, that wigs and makeup and mumming and poor light had fooled him, but just then he knew it was not so: he had seen what he had seen.

The sound of boots heralded the arrival of the bald, humourless man who had haunted the colonel’s table: the Rekef man.

“Captain,” the Spider acknowledged, cleaning his blade on the remains of the robe.

“Scylis,” the Rekef man nodded. “Where...?”

The Spider indicated the room he had just left with a jerk of his head. “I take it you did not include Colonel Borden in your plans, Captain?”

“How could I have explained matters to his satisfaction?” The Rekef man had taken one look into the further room, and was clearly satisfied. “One more enemy of the Empire done with. You’ll get your pay, Scylis, and a commendation.”

“So kind,” the Spider, Scylis, remarked. “And Nysse Ceann? I’ll find her at that place in Kalla Rae, I take it?”

“What of it?”

The Spider’s smile was only affable. “It was suggested that I could kill the precious bitch, after I’d done for her lover.”

The Rekef man shook his head. “She might yet be useful, as bait, or to keep some Commonweal hotheads in line. Forget her. There’s call for you in Helleron, I hear.”

Scylis shrugged. “You’ll want her dead some day, and my rates for ridding the world of spoilt princesses are surprisingly reasonable. Now, shall we collect my fee?”

And they were gone, walking companionably off, the killer and his paymaster. Only then did Cordwick realise that he had been holding his breath.

Tesse insisted on seeing Darien’s body at first, but when they reached the entrance to that room her nerve failed her and she would not look. Instead, she let Cordwick guide her away, weaving carefully through the nest of cellars. Wherever the live Wasps were gathered or searching, they changed path, went into the dark and found a way round through the interconnecting passages.

And later, as they crouched in the shadows whilst Wasp surgeons and their slaves hunted for wounded that could be saved, Cordwick stated, “We can do it.”

Tesse looked at him mutely, locking eyes with him until, somehow, his meaning seeped into her.

“Nysse Ceann?” she breathed.

“Kalla Rae,” Cordwick confirmed.

“And why?” she pressed him, “Why would you? Where’s your profit, thief?”

Cordwick just held her gaze, and at last said, “Just because I am Apt, and a Beetle, and make free with the goods of others, do not think I know nothing of doing what is right. If it can be done, without great risk, without loss. Besides, there might be profit in it. Some Commonweal family would pay well, to have her. No reason why a man can’t be