Between Smoke and Shadow

19. Rune

NINETEEN

RUNE

After abandoning the laundry in the stairwell, we move quickly through the Chapter Building. Though its exterior is identical to the Tower, the interior is far less extravagant. The walls are gray and decorated with simple paintings, and the floors are solid black. There’s less activity too. Rather than swarms of gossiping elites and patrolling guards, there are only occasional servants slipping from one doorway to the next.

I hold my breath once we near the exit. If anyone sees us now, especially anyone who recognizes us as Harrick’s, this mission will be over before it starts. We’ll be dragged back upstairs and one of the guards might filet us before Harrick has the chance to intervene.

Alven shoves through the final door, leading us outside and into the steady rain. It’s colder today than it was yesterday, and wetter. Rain slashes from the sky, drenching the streets and forming puddles on walkways. We remain beneath a red-painted canopy while Alven checks his instructions.

“This way first,” he says.

And then, we’re off. Rain slices against my skin, bitterly cold, and soaks through my clothes. I don’t allow myself to feel the sting or to worry about how we’ll explain ourselves later. Instead I listen carefully to Alven’s instructions. We go east, west, east again. All the while, I scan for signs of danger, for hunters . We’re alone though, our sloshing footsteps the only ones to be heard.

The buildings become more and more dilapidated as we move through the City. Some were likely destroyed during this last Earthquake Season. The rest have probably been like this for cycles, rusting and warping and half-collapsed.

Alven’s breaths come quick but even. Mine, on the other hand, are erratic and painful. My body isn’t familiar with exercise. Every time Alven pauses to consult his instructions, I take heavy breaths and remind myself that I have to do this, not just for myself but for all of the rebels back at the Tower.

Farther and farther we move, and with increasing distance from the Chapter Building, the City comes alive. The streets gradually become more populated, with white-clothed commoners going about their daily business. If the rain bothers them, they don’t show it. A mother walks with her young child in one hand and a bag of fabric in the other. Two men stand outside an apparent storefront, having a heated debate.And farthest yet, a group of older children kick an empty can in the street.

Nobody acknowledges us, but their eyes all flicker over us, silently deciding whether we’re threats, I imagine. They might be out of the dangerous part of the City, but they’re not foolish enough to feel safe.

Finally, when my lungs feel ready to burst and my legs are shaking, we reach a decrepit neighborhood. It doesn’t look entirely different from the others, but it’s noticeably more abandoned. The only sound comes from hurried footsteps and wheezing coughs. Alven slows as we navigate the ruins, pausing to consult his parchment. It’s soggy now, almost unreadable.

“This is it,” he says.

My body is relieved, but my mind spikes with anxiety.

Trap. This could be a trap. Alven might be a traitor. I might be moments from death.

“That building,” he says, oblivious to my internal panic. He juts his chin toward a short structure with only half a roof. “Berg will be there soon, if he’s not already.”

“Okay,” I say. I try to sound brave, determined, but my voice squeaks. “Will you be here when I’m done? I won’t—I won’t be able to find my way back.”

“Be quick,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as it’s safe. Not a second more.”

“Understood.”

He nods sharply, then gestures again toward the building. I don’t let myself dwell on what I’ll do if he leaves me here. Instead, I move for the slanted warehouse, not looking back until I’ve reached the entrance. Alven has already disappeared.

I’m barely through the door before a knife is at my throat. I gasp, stumbling backward until my shoulders hit cold metal.

“Name?” the man demands. He’s wearing a strange concoction of white, threadbare clothing. His pale hair is greasy, beard tangled and overgrown. There’s a wildness in his eyes, which are shockingly exposed. It doesn’t look like he’s even carrying a mask, as if he’s hoping someone will end his life.

That being said, he clearly wouldn’t go without a fight.

“R-Rune,” I finally manage. The tip of his blade rests at the base of my neck, and he’s applying enough pressure for me to know he won’t hesitate.

The man looks up and down my body. We’re close to the same height, but he’s clearly stronger, faster, more experienced.

I writhe slightly, as if attempting to shake him off. It does nothing, and the man only continues to stare.

“Are you Berg?” I finally manage. My voice is hoarse, small. “I was…I’m here to meet you.”

“Who sent you.” It’s somehow a statement, not a question. He applies more pressure to his blade, and I swear, he’s drawn blood. His opposite hand settles into the spot beside my head, and he leans closer, eyes narrowed, unimpressed.

“Vale,” I say. My voice shakes, but at least I’ve managed to answer him. I consider mentioning Alven, then decide against it.

The man continues staring. His mouth is downturned, but his face is otherwise unreadable. He lowers the knife until it’s no longer on my skin but still high enough if he needs to attack.

“I was told you have information for me,” I say. I resist the urge to touch my throat, even though I can feel the distinct warmth of blood at my collar. “Something to help us.”

“Twenty-seventh level,” Berg says. His voice wavers as he speaks, as if some internal instinct begs him to be quiet. “Northeast wing. End of the last hallway. Elevator disguised as a locked door. 846538. You’ll find it at the bottom.”

“Find what?” I whisper. A hideous chill rolls up my spine and back down to my toes. Without permission, my thoughts flicker to Harrick. Does he know what I’ll find? Is it something horrible?

“846538,” Berg repeats. He steps backward, eyes steady on mine and knife still raised. He keeps moving, only hesitating when he reaches the opposite side of the building. “If they catch you, pray for a swift death.”

Then he’s gone. I linger for less than a minute before I exit out the way I came. It’s raining harder now, and the icy water collects in deep puddles around me. It doesn’t matter. I’m already soaked through to the bone, and I’m too busy repeating 846538 to feel the cold.

Once I reach the place I left Alven, I twist in a slow circle. Just when I’m sure he’s left, he appears from the shadows, snatching my hand. He yanks me back toward the hill, not speaking until we’ve gone several blocks.

“Quickly,” he says. “They’ve likely noticed our absence.”

My stomach sours at the thought. I have no idea how we’ll explain, especially since it’s clear we’ve been outside.

One thing at a time , I chastise myself.

The standing water thins as we move for the Chapter Building. I’m shivering, and my lips are numb from the splattering rain. I haven’t spoken anything other than Berg’s number when Alven suddenly jerks to a stop.

I look at him, but before he can offer an explanation, I hear it too.

The sound starts slow, growing louder with each passing second. A scream, I realize. It’s not one of terror, but of concentration, of animalistic hunger. I spin toward the sound, my hip colliding against Alven as he pulls me closer. We’re almost back to the Chapter Building, and yet, it suddenly feels so far.

Too far.

The man screams again. It takes me a moment to find him through the slanting downpour, but he’s there, standing in the center of the street. Even if he weren’t wearing the jarring violet of a royal, I would have known he didn’t belong here. He’s too built, too muscular to be a commoner. And he’s far too relaxed, too loud to be anything other than a descendant.

There’s a heavy pause as we stare at each other through the torrential rain. Alven’s hand pulses in mine, like he’s debating, debating, de?—

“Run.” He doesn’t scream it, doesn’t even raise his voice. It’s a quiet, lethal demand. One I don’t need to hear twice.

We sprint for the Chapter Building. Alven might break my hand with how hard he’s dragging me, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t keep up. He glances sideways at me, jaw clenched. Flashes of white surround us as the few people outside take cover in their homes. Alven tugs again, nearly pulling me off my feet.

“Come on!” he screams.

But I’m not healthy like he is. I’m struggling to keep up, slowing to the point we’re both going to get caught if he doesn’t let go. Even Alven, an elite , won’t be spared by a bloodthirsty descendant in the middle of his hunt.

If we both die, so too will this secret.

“846538,” I say. It takes everything in my lungs to force out the number, to make it audible through the rain. “Tell. Vale.”

“You can make it,” he says, his breath ragged. But he’s already released my hand, striding ahead. “C’mon, Rune. Run!”

I don’t respond and he doesn’t look back. I can only hope he heard Berg’s number, that this wasn’t all for nothing.

Alven sprints away from me and after a few paces, I realize I need a better plan. I’m never going to outrun the hunter, but maybe I can hide. I lunge for the nearest building, not allowing myself to look for him. I don’t know where he is or whether he has me in his line of vision.

Something tells me he does.

I slam against the nearest warped building, wrenching the first door I see. It’s locked. I stumble sideways, my stomach and legs cramping so hard I can barely stay upright. There are several doors along this building, and I sob as I tug on every latch. Fingers wet and shaking, slipping against the soaked metal.

Locked.

Locked.

Locked .

A woman reaches a door at the end of the building, less than fifteen feet from me. She fumbles with her key, body trembling as she unlocks the stooped door. I stumble toward her, leaning against the building. She gets it open, her wide eyes meeting mine.

“Please!” I scream, panting. “Wait!”

She drops her gaze, slipping through the door and shutting it just as I reach it. I grab for the handle, but I’m one second too slow. It’s shut, locked, and I’m on the wrong side. I smack my palm against it. Once, twice. Finally, I look up, desperately searching for a window short enough to scale.

Instead, all I find is a large mirror. It’s cracked, a jagged line cutting down the middle. On one side, there is me, staggering and drenched and sobbing. On the other, him , a hunter clad in an expensive, inexplicably dry violet suit. A twisted insignia rests on his left breast pocket. A descendant.

“Please, keep trying,” he purrs. He makes no move for me, his hands tucked into his pockets. I recognize him now, his dark skin contrasting against the vibrant purple of his mask. He was one of the first descendants I’d ever met, the one who assigned me to Saskia. Then Viana.

I keep my eyes on the mirror as he unties his mask, revealing a handsome face and pale violet eyes. They’re so faded they almost look pink, so much weaker than I expect. And yet, I know they’ll kill me. The second our eyes meet outside this mirror, I’ll stop existing.

I press my hands against the metal building as my legs tremble. I close my eyes, feeling a gutting familiarity. This was how I met Harrick, how he found me: weak and unprotected and alone. But Sorace is not Harrick. He’s never given any indication at being kind or merciful, and the fact he’s here, in the City of Mirrors…

“Look at me,” he says. His voice is alluring, almost coy in its mockery.

I squeeze my eyes as hard as I can, causing a sting of pressure behind them. A distorted sob breaks my lips, echoed by a louder one when Sorace steps closer. His feet wade through the water, splashing softly, as his body reaches mine. His chest touches the back of my head, as if to remind me I’m not only mortal, but also pathetically small.

“Shhh,” he whispers, leaning his mouth to my ear. It’s nothing like when Harrick’s breath tickled my hair this morning.

“Please. Don’t,” I say. I’m shaking so hard my words don’t sound like words at all.

Sorace’s hands touch my hips. His fingers trail lazily up my sides, brushing my ribcage, up to my armpits. He moves back down, this time sliding his hands over my chest, then stomach, stopping just below my navel. I’m trembling beneath him, my mind spinning uselessly beneath my skull. I don’t know if he’s checking for weapons or if he’s testing the curves of my body. I’m terrified he’s going to shatter my soul before he steals it.

“You smell surprisingly delicious for a worthless thing,” he says, leaning against my neck. His breath is hot and uncomfortable, and I can feel his lips on my skin.

Oh gods. No . My voice echoes through my entire body, pulsing like it’s trying to escape. Think. You have to think.

Sorace’s hands move again, back to my hips. I expect him to grab between my legs, but he spins me instead, smacking my spine against the building. He allows a bit of distance between us now, bending slightly until I can feel his breath across my face.

With my eyes still closed, I lash out. It’s a useless, uncalculated move, but I’m scrambling. Nothing I say will convince him to release me, and I refuse to make this any easier for him than it already is.

He likes watching you struggle , whispers my mind.

I ignore it, swinging my fists chaotically, using one leg to kick while the other keeps me upright. My knuckles connect with the stiff fabric of his suit, once, twice. He laughs at me, like he’s witnessing a child’s tantrum. He only falters when my fist strikes his skin—his jaw, if I had to guess. With a grunt, his hands catch my wrists, so easily, I know he could have done it all along. Could have, but wanted to watch my wild terror.

“Enough of that,” he scolds, flattening me back against the metal. He collects both wrists in one hand, holding them high above my head, until I’m stretched as far as I can. His hip holds my stomach in place while his free hand rips the mask off my face.

I scream, a wild cry that somehow sounds far away. I feel like I’m slipping out of my body, like I’m not here.

I wish I wasn’t.

I wish my soul would tear from these horrible mortal bones and disappear. So I don’t have to feel him touch my body against my will. So I don’t have to look at him while he drains my life away. So I don’t have to taste my last breath.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. With my mask now gone, his hand tightens over my chin. He pinches my jaw, his large hand claiming most of my face. Distantly, I wonder if he recognizes me. If he knows he’ll now have to find yet another handmaiden for Viana.

“Please,” I whisper it again, hate myself again.

“Open them!” he screams. His hand goes to my throat, squeezing until a strange, breathy squeak comes from my lips. “Open your eyes, you pathetic waste.”

His hand starts to move again, sliding down my throat, over my chest, gripping my waist.

“Open them!”

“Just kill me first,” I say. I’m sobbing, voice so hoarse I don’t recognize it. “Kill me first. Please . Don’t do it while I’m alive.”

There’s a brief pause. At first, I think he’s considering my request, but then, he barks out a laugh. So normal and childlike it makes me nauseated. As if I’m an amusing creature, as if he’s not planning to destroy me in every meaning of the word.

“You think I want to fuck you?” he asks, incredulous. “You’re a piece of scum. And you think…you think I’d want to fuck your corpse?”

He laughs again, the sound slicing through every layer of my skin, until it’s cut straight through the bone.

“I’d fuck a boar before I’d fuck you,” he spits. His hand still grips my waist, painful and mocking. “Now open your eyes before this gets ugly.”

It’s already ugly. It’s so far past ugly I just want it to be over. I want my soul to be elsewhere, floating up in the clouds. I wonder if my consciousness is tied directly to my magic, if my mind will be forever trapped in his body once he drains me.

There’s power in me . I say the words in my head, firmly, as if that will make them true. As if I will awaken a dangerous magic, if I just believe hard enough.

Sorace drops my waist and my wrists, and both hands clench the sides of my face. He forces my eyes open, sharp nails piercing the skin around them. I thrash my hands against his, tearing at his knuckles.

My left eye is open, just barely, and Sorace’s blurry face comes into view. I’m crying and I think I’m bleeding too.

Kill him , I scream to my brain, to the magic I pray sleeps within me. Wake up and kill him!

Sorace doesn’t say anything as he stares at me. His violet eyes glow, so bright they’re stunning. For a second, just a split second, I am mesmerized by their beauty. I can’t look away from them—and I don’t want to. Any other thoughts in my brain melt away, until I’m searching his eyes for the meaning of life. For the happiness I’ve always dreamt of.

And then, just as suddenly, I snap back to reality. A horrible pressure builds in my bones. Not on them or around them, but in them, as if they’re being carved from the inside. The pain consumes every inch of my consciousness. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever felt. Worse than a starving belly. Worse than skin so dirty it itches. Worse than a hundred fists on my body.

I open my mouth. I think I scream, but everything goes black before I know for sure.