Page 19 of To Clutch a Razor
“Then what is the purpose of your visit?”
“I was sent here as part of my vengeance oath.”
At that, her hands falter. She leans into the counter, her shoulders bunching up around her ears.
“Do it, then,” she snaps.
She’s braced in anticipation of a blow, he realizes. She expects him to kill her.
A zemsta’s job must have been easier in the time when you could carry weapons without causing alarm, Niko thinks. As it is, he has a knife hidden in his boot and another one strapped to his forearm, which means he has to wear long sleeves no matter how warm it is. Not ideal, for being so close to the Holy Order he can practically taste their magic in the air, but he can’t really walk around town with a sword at his hip.
“I’m not taking vengeance againstyou,” he says. “But I did come for your help.”
She relaxes by a fraction, and pours water over the tea bag. Then she turns toward him. The light from the stove shines across her scarred cheek, and he realizes why she has a lisp—her lower lip is gone, and only scar tissue remains.
“I’m hunting one of them,” Niko says. “Someone who’s notoriously difficult to pin down, but they’re here, now, for a funeral. Along with… quite a few others.”
He’s still certain that Lidia sent him here to die, but she doesn’t know Niko. He’s cleverer than his predecessor, and he knows that if he’s going to hold his own againstthe Razor, he’ll need help, and he’ll need to use the circumstances—a house full of Knights, all gathered to put one of their number into the ground—to his advantage.
“The bees are swarming the hive, and you want to stick your hand in it?” The wieszczy laughs, and sips her cherry tea. The red liquid dribbles down her chin like blood. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “You must be new.”
“I’m not, as a matter of fact.” Niko is getting annoyed. “Anyway, it’s not your concern, whether I’m likely to succeed or not. You’re either going to do what I ask, or you’re not, regardless of the outcome.”
“And why would I consider doing what you ask?”
“Because of theczart,Maja,” Niko says harshly, and when he speaks her name the air seems to crackle as if charged with electricity. Niko closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. There’s no sense in wasting magic—not here, not now.
But maybe it wasn’t a waste, because it seems to remind the wieszczy exactly who and what he is. Not just a strzygon, but someone whose oath provides him with a constant flow of magic. The sacrifice of his safety, his ambitions, his dreams—it’s created a debt that can never be repaid. When he opens his eyes, the wieszczy is holding the teacup in both mangled hands, looking stricken.
“I didn’t mean to—” she says, and her breath catches.
“Of course not,” Niko says, his voice soft and soothing. “You only meant to get the czart killed, didn’t you? And no one cares about a czart, do they? It’s not your fault hehad friends with him when the Knight came calling. It’s not your fault six people died when you only intended one.”
The wieszczy bows over the mug of tea, pulling into herself like a bug curling up to die.
“I was human, once,” she says.
“So was I.” Niko leans back in his chair. “Ask me how many creatures I got killed when I was still mortal.”
“Mortal,” she scoffs. “How can a strzygon be born human?”
“My long life was bought at a terrible price. Though perhaps not as terrible a price as the six lives your survival cost.”
The wieszczy’s eyes are dark. They remind him of rain puddles in moonlight, just a sheen of light on black pavement. Her expression is neutral, as if their discussion means nothing to her, but guilt is just anger and shame intermingling, so he can feel it as surely as he felt the prickle of her anger before. He has more sympathy toward her than he lets on. It’s hard not to. Either she lived a normal human life, if her parents didn’t know what signs to look for in their newborn, or she lived a life under the shadow of dread, if they did. To be a wieszczy is to know all your life that after the horror of death, there will be a new horror: a mouthful of grave dirt, a taste for flesh, and an endless un-life.
It amazes him still, how she was so desperate to preserve even that half life, that horror life, that she offeredup someone else’s suffering and destruction. No matter what someone is, the living still want to live, most of the time.
“What do you want me to do?” she says.
“A simple task,” he answers. “The Holy Order are performing a ritual to ward off evil spirits. To ensure that their lost brother doesn’t come back as something else.” He smiles a little. “I believe they are mainly concerned that he’ll wake as—”
“A wieszczy,” the wieszczy says testily. “Yes. This ritual comes frommypeople, after all.”
“So I’ve heard. My request, therefore, is that you let them catch sight of you at the cemetery. They’ll scatter to search for you. And I’ll be able to corner my quarry.”
“You’re so sure you can get them alone?”
“I know her patterns,” Niko says. “And once she sees me, well. I’m not exactly difficult to identify as a strzygon.”
