Брайан Макклеллан - Blood of Empire

“You’re going to fix that with face paint?”

“I’m not giving you rosy cheeks and a blue forehead,” he assured her. “I’ve met face painters – professionals who would never stoop to working a children’s street festival. The very best of them could make you look exactly like me.”

“You’re joking.”

“It wouldn’t last through a rainy day or a particularly sweaty afternoon, but yes,” Michel said. “They’re damned artists, and I’m not going to do anything so severe. What I can do is apply a bit of shading to your nose and cheekbones. A little back here” – he brushed his fingertips across the nape of her neck, then over her brow – “and a little here. Very subtle alterations to the angles.”

“And this isn’t immediately obvious to anyone who looks at me?”

“I sure hope not,” Michel said, only half joking. “It should stand up to most scrutiny, and it shouldn’t be so heavy that if you do get caught in the rain, anyone will really notice that much of a difference. They’ll just think something is a bit off, but pass it off as nothing. A person’s brain will trick them in all sorts of ways if they think they already know who you are.”

He put one hand under her chin and tilted it up, examining her for several minutes before he finally lifted the bit of charcoal. Their eyes met briefly, and he found her expression oddly determined. He’d already taken note of the thrill she seemed to get when no one recognized her, and he wondered if this next step was just an extension of that. The problem was, they were going into Palo life in the Depths. No more private rooms. No servants or free access to booze and mala. No comforts to which a high-ranking Privileged might be accustomed. He’d tried to impress this upon her for days without any emotional response from her.

He considered something he’d been thinking about since they left Landfall with Sedial’s goons on their heels. He opened his mouth, reconsidered, then licked his lips several times before rushing ahead. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” One of her eyebrows flickered upward.

“Why do you trust me?”

“I don’t,” she said firmly.

“Clearly you do,” he replied, somewhat more forcefully than he’d intended. “You followed me out of Landfall on my word, hid in a fishing town for weeks with barely a complaint, and now you’re letting me change your entire face and take you into one of the most dangerous places in Fatrasta…”

“Greenfire Depths is that bad?”

“Yes, it is. And don’t change the subject.” Michel had momentum now, and he didn’t want to lose it. “Aside from wanting to see your sister, what could possibly convince you to come with me?”

“Are you trying to get me to say I’m in love with you?”

The question brought him up short. He froze like a panicked deer, mouth suddenly dry. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He fumbled for an answer.

“Because I’m not,” she said calmly. “I’m not even sure I like you after all of this. But I suppose I do trust you. Back in the fishing village, when you told me and Taniel that you planned on going back into Landfall to save your people? That was the first time I’ve truly felt like I saw the real you. I think I’ve found your true intentions, and that intrigues me.” She took a deep breath. “And there’s the blood sacrifices.”

They hadn’t spoken about it since her outburst at the fishing village. “You think there’s truth in what je Tura told me?” Michel asked carefully.

“ You do.”

“Yes, but I’m just a spy. I only have my suspicions. You’re a Dynize Privileged.” She was evading the question. Michel fixed her with a look that, he hoped, told her that he wasn’t going to let her get around it.

Several moments passed. Finally, she said, “I do think there’s truth in it. Since I was a child, my grandfather has made it very clear that I am a tool. His little Mara . Blood holds the key to unlocking the stones, and as a Privileged and his granddaughter, my blood is stronger than most. But I’m not there, so…”

“Why didn’t you mention it before?”

“Because it never occurred to me that he would turn to other options. Stupid, I know. Sedial would never let my absence damage his plans.”

“So you think he’s using the blood of others to unlock the stone?”

“A lot of others,” Ichtracia said flatly.

“How many?”

“Thousands.”

Michel shivered. “Pit.”

“Exactly.” Ichtracia raised her chin imperiously. “I don’t much care about the Palo. I’m not here to fight for their freedom. But I can’t help but feel as if the murder of all those people could have been avoided if I’d just volunteered. I can’t let that pass.”

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

“I know,” she snapped. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall. The gesture smudged the face paint Michel had just applied, and he made a mental note to fix it. “I’m not a fool. But something has been twisting my guts around ever since you mentioned the sacrifices. I have to do something about it. You know, I want to meet my sister more than anything. To find out I have kin, and to find out that she is fighting for something, rather than sitting in a mala haze. It shames me into action. I can meet her when this is all over.”

Michel decided it would be prudent not to push her any further. He gave her a curt nod.

She wiped her eyes once more and suddenly smiled. “I do not like you, Michel, but I do enjoy you. Watching you work. I can’t help but be impressed. You convinced an entire Dynize Household that you were a spy, and then convinced them that you’d changed your ways for good. And then I find that you hadn’t actually been a spy for the people we thought you were a spy for in the first place. If I hadn’t been personally involved, I would have found that very funny. I think it will be a pleasure to see what you do next.”

“Weirdly, that puts a lot of pressure on my shoulders,” Michel answered.

“Good. You deserve it. Are you done already?” She gestured at her hair and face.

He shook away his thoughts and stepped back up to her. “We still need to dye your hair.”

“Fine. Go on. Have I answered your question?”

She did trust him, but she didn’t like him. And they were still sharing a bed. An emotionally confusing answer. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Then answer one for me: What do you plan on doing to hide your hand?”

Michel swallowed hard. He’d been avoiding this subject for days, and it made his stomach churn. “The same thing I do with the rest of my body: hide it in plain sight.”

She gave him a quizzical look.

“That sorcerous surgery technique you used on me…”

“If you want me to reattach your finger, we would need the finger in the first place.”

Michel chuckled nervously. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

Michel stood on the southern rim of Greenfire Depths, trying to ignore the terrible pain in his left hand. The stubs of his now two missing fingers felt like they were on fire, and it had taken several shots of the worst kind of rotgut Palo whiskey to get to the point where he could even think through the agony. Despite the very fresh feeling of losing his ring finger and having had the wound over the pinkie stub reopened, what remained of both fingers was expertly handled by precise applications of sorcery and bits from his face-painting kit.