Read Online Shadow Pavilion by Liz Williams - Free Book Online

between, you see, and there I have no need of wealth.”
    â€œYou are sometimes called the Lord Lady of Shadow Pavilion,” the Dowager Empress said.
    â€œI have all I need in the Twilight Lands. But that is not to say that I have retired.” Here, female self made a small, mute protest, which Seijin ignored. “Your proposition was most interesting. I did not hesitate to sign your contract. To kill the Emperor, your own son?”
    The touch on Seijin’s arm burned like ice. “Do you judge me, Lord Lady Assassin?”
    Seijin turned to her full-on, and said, “I don’t judge. I just kill.”

14
    B adger clawed, fought, struggled, kicked, and bit, but the thick hessian surface of the bag would not give way. Recognizing a temporary defeat, badger lay still, uncomfortably bundled. Doubtless it might be easier to undertake this journey in teakettle form, but in this aspect, the badger’s sense of smell was somewhat impaired, although he was still able to see and hear. So he remained in his animal being and let himself be bumped and carried through wherever it was that he was being taken.
    He thought it was probably Hell. It smelled like Hell: there was a reeking undercurrent of stale iron that was extremely familiar. Which part of Hell, though?—that was the question. Had they come straight to the upper levels, or were they moving through one of the lower? If the latter case, then badger might himself start changing, although this was by no means inevitable. Into what, remained to be seen.
    He could get little sense of who, or what, had snatched him. The person did not seem to smell of anything apart from a faint scent of magic, which to the badger’s mind was suspicious. Humans smelled of human, whatever cultural factors might come into play (Westerners had that odd dairy stink, for instance); Heaven­kind always had that unwholesome note of peach, and demons smelled of—well, anything and everything, usually noxious. But this person—impossible to tell. That meant that someone had gone to some lengths to disguise their natural odor and probably their appearance as well. Badger gave a growl, just to see what the response would be. None whatsoever. That meant that his captor was not afraid of him.
    Annoying.
    The journey continued for a while longer. Badger occupied the time by trying to get a sense of his surroundings, and also in attempting to contact Mistress. He thought he could sense her, but only occasionally, and she was very, very far away. Back on Earth, in other words. If he were being carried deep into Hell, then he would soon lose all trace of her. Badger growled again and this time the bag was given a sharp hard thump. Badger subsided. But wait! He had stopped moving, and there were voices.
    His captor was speaking, but badger did not understand the language. It wasn’t Mandarin or Cantonese, or any of the tongues of Hell. He did not think it was English, although that gabbled lisping language was not one with which he was particularly familiar. He’d heard it on Mistress’ television, however, and this just did not sound the same.
    Someone was having a bit of an argument, though, unless badger was greatly mistaken. Then the bag was pulled abruptly open and badger’s world was flooded with scent.
    Cumin. Ginger. Fire. Jasmine. Shit. Frangipani.
    The badger blinked, dazzled by the onrush of color that accompanied these odors. Crimson and yellow and gold and a deep rich blue; emerald and purple and ivory. Never mind the lightshow. Badger bit the nearest thing to hand and was rewarded with the taste of blood. Someone yelled and badger received a blow to the head that made the new world ring. Badger was not particularly bothered by this. He snarled. A loop was thrown around his neck and pulled tight.
    â€œWe can kill you, little demon,” said a voice. “No trouble at all.”
    Wait, badger counseled himself. Wait . He knew there would