The Ruthless - Peter Newman The Deathless Trilogy

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let the demon win. When Lord Rochant returns through me, he will expect better than this. We must be ready for that day, mustn’t we, Mother?’

      ‘Yes. We must strive to be worthy of our Deathless Lord.’ They all hung their heads, though a few still looked angry. ‘And you, Honoured Vessel Satyendra, need to get to your lesson at once, we’ve wasted enough time here.’

      ‘Might I help my friend first? She is in pain and you have often told me that I need to learn the line between perfection and cruelty.’ Chandni stared hard at him, and Satyendra kept his face innocent and dutiful. ‘I try only to be as firm and fair as Lord Rochant would be.’

      ‘Very well.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      As his mother returned to the castle, Satyendra crouched next to Chunk. ‘I’m sorry about hurting you before and I hope you can understand it wasn’t personal.’ He looked into her eyes, watching the way his lie slipped into her ear and down to her heart as easily as sweetwine.

      ‘But you smiled at me,’ replied Chunk, sniffing up some of the teary snot threatening to spill over her top lip. ‘You tricked me!’

      ‘Yes, which is just what the demons of the Wild would do; trick you into letting down your guard. You know the rules: Don’t let the demon get close, don’t meet its eyes, don’t listen to its voice.’

      ‘But …’

      ‘But nothing. The Wild is unforgiving. Our people rely on the Deathless and their hunters to keep them safe. We have to be perfect or we fail. You have to be perfect.’

      ‘You’re right,’ she sniffed.

      ‘I am. And I forgive you.’

      He felt her twinge of indignation, tasting the moment it fluttered into suppressed anger and shame, all of her feelings served to him on a platter of background pain. It was so good his mouth began to water.

       What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

      He put his hands on either side of her knee. ‘This is going to hurt,’ and suns save me I am going to enjoy it, ‘Brace yourself.’

      ‘Okay,’ she replied.

      ‘One. Two. Three!’ He gripped harder, feeling her tense in discomfort, drawing out her anticipation for a shade longer than necessary, then popped the joint back into position. Chunk screamed, and Satyendra dropped his head forward, letting his long hair curtain off the rapturous smile.

      His blood sang with her pain, his skin rippled with it, the hollow lethargy that usually dogged him replaced with energy and happiness, boundless.

       So good!

      Under pretence of checking it had gone in properly, he manipulated Chunk’s swollen knee with his fingers. Shivering with the pain elicited from each prod.

      Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nose was staring. As he looked up the boy jerked his head away too late, too abruptly, to seem casual. Did he see me? Really see me? Does he suspect?

      ‘That should be fine now,’ he said to Chunk.

      ‘Thank you, Satyendra.’

      ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, standing up with reluctance. There was more to milk here but he dared not risk it. ‘Hopefully they’ll have your back next time.’

      Aware that he was already late, he said his goodbyes quickly and jogged off to his lesson with the Story-singer. Running felt good. He needed to work off some of the rush before sitting with Ban. The old Story-singer wasn’t the strongest willed in the castle, but he was no fool either.

      As soon as his back was turned to the apprentices, Nose had stared openly, not realizing that his suspicious reflection could be seen in the crystals around the archway.

      You see me, Nose, thought Satyendra as he passed through the arch. But I see you. Maybe you’re not such a dung head after all. When I’m done with you, maybe you’ll wish you were.

       CHAPTER THREE

      A bath was waiting for Pari when she reached her chamber, as were servants. The former topped with petals, the latter armed with brushes. A swift and thorough cleaning followed, while Pari tried to collect her thoughts. Always after a rebirth came the horrible feeling of having forgotten something, and this one was no different.

      As the servants towelled her dry, Pari considered her body anew. She had asked to be given her granddaughter, Rashana, as a vessel. A perfect match both physically and in temperament, Rashana would have led to an easy rebirth. However, as punishment for going to the Sapphire lands in secret and without permission, she had been given Priti instead, her great granddaughter. Shorter, sweeter, obedient to a fault. The type of girl that would not know an original thought if it struck her in the face.

      If the vessel’s body was like a jug, then Pari’s soul was the water. And if the jug did not have room for certain of Pari’s qualities, then they would spill over the edge and be lost.

      However, unlike a jug, a vessel could be reshaped, and Pari had seen to it that one of her people visited Priti in secret to complete her education. In the years while she was between lives, he had been working quietly to encourage rebellious thoughts. His name was Varg, and unlike most of the servants, he was not known to the High Lord or any of the main staff. At least, he should not be. She’d had him go in disguise under a false name just to be safe.

      Given the ease of her rebirth, she could only assume that Varg had done well. The calluses on her hands suggested her great granddaughter had enjoyed some clandestine climbing, as well as knife work, and she could only guess at the other terrible things he had taught her.

      It’s a start, she thought. Though my arms look like they could use some more work.

      She would have liked to be a few inches taller too. Such things shouldn’t matter, but they did. She made a mental note to have the platforms on her shoes adjusted accordingly.

      Silk was wrapped around her, tight on the arms and legs. Over this was draped a violet gown with loose sleeves and high shoulders that curled to points. A layer of gem-studded jewellery was added to that, and her face was painted; gold around the eyes and mouth, subtler tones elsewhere, smoothing the lines on her face and the youth of her skin, obscuring the age of the body to let the Deathless soul shine through.

      A woman sang for permission to enter and Pari gave it. She was dressed in the uniform of a majordomo, tanzanite studs flashing at her throat. Her arrival automatically dismissed the other servants, who hurried away as she bowed deeply. ‘Welcome back, my lady.’

      Pari looked at her full face blankly. ‘And you are?’

      The woman laughed in delight, sounding briefly like a common child from the settlements below. Pari looked closer, noting that the woman’s skin was made up, that beneath it she was pale for a sky-born. She had clearly spent many years in the castle but had not started life there.

      ‘Wait,’ she added. ‘I know you … Don’t tell me.’ A number of names skipped through her mind. ‘It can’t be? Ami? Is it you?’

      The woman clapped her hands. ‘Yes, my lady.’

      They embraced, carefully so as not to upset Pari’s outfit. ‘My dear Ami, it is a delight to see you again. Look how you’ve grown! You were a slip of a girl the last I saw you.’

      ‘The cook and I are the best of friends,’ she replied with a smile.

      ‘It is always wise to be on the cook’s good side. I take it you’ve come to enjoy our food.’

      ‘Oh yes. So much better than what I had before. The Sapphire don’t know what they’re missing!’

      ‘Spoken like a

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