Between Smoke and Shadow

20. Harrick

TWENTY

HARRICK

Mimeo’s is on the first floor of the Chapter Building, and it’s smaller than any of the dining options in the Tower. I sit at a two-person table with Proxy Kean, cutting the last of my lion steak. It’s delicious and tender, putting even the best meals at the Tower to shame. I’m tempted to ask for the chef’s name, but I’m here to establish connections, not hire new staff. If Malek takes the throne, I want to claim the position of emissary. It’s not a title anyone has held in my lifetime, but in the beginning, someone from the Tower worked with the sectors to better unify Savoa. It won’t be the same as leading the kingdom—not even close—but it might give me the chance to make life better for those in the outer sectors.

“We need everything,” Kean says. He has all but cleaned his plate and looks tempted to lick the crumbs. Each sector has a representative from the Tower, but they also have a proxy. A commoner. Someone born and living in their sector, someone who knows how the people struggle and what would lessen their pain.

As far as I know, it’s been multiple cycles since there’s been a meeting between my mother and the proxies.

“What would be the priority?” I ask. I take a final bite of steak, savoring the flavor as it melts in my mouth. Kean leans back to ponder my question, and I wave down the server. She’s immediately at the side of our table, eyes downcast, even with the white sheen of veil in front of them. “Another of these for Proxy Kean. And six more to my room.”

Kean’s eyebrows raise. He’d seemed surprised when I insisted Joran and the other guard order meals. I’d wanted to snap at his assumption that I’d make them starve, but I know I have no right. Kean’s assumptions—everyone’s—aren’t unwarranted.

“The priority?” I press, not wanting to indulge his curiosities. My room’s kitchen is fully stocked. There’s plenty of food for Rune and the others to gorge themselves, but I know she’s never tasted anything like this. I want her to try it, and for whatever twisted reason, I want to watch her try it. To see her enjoy something, to know it’s me giving her that pleasure.

Kean still hasn’t responded when the server hurries toward him, whispering in his ear. He gives a tight nod, eyes narrowing in my direction. As the woman leaves, he bares his teeth at me, any cordiality gone.

“The priority,” he says, jaw tight, “Should be to keep your damn hunters out of my city.”

He shoves from his chair, and both Joran and Dae echo his movement. Joran stands with readied hands, flashes of magic emanating from his bare fingers. His power comes from the Pit, and he’s capable of crushing someone to death in under a minute. Though Dae isn’t a descendant, he’s nearly as lethal with a blade. His hand wrests at his hip, waiting for my word.

“Don’t,” is all I say. I get to my feet slowly, hoping to loosen the tension in the air. To Kean, I say, “I will work to resolve this. You have my word.”

Kean’s eyes flash, and I know he thinks I’m lying. The truth is, I’ve wanted the hunting to stop since I was young. I’ve never known how, and now that Malek will likely be king, it feels like fighting the wind. Knowing my brother, he’ll want to make it legal again. He’ll want to encourage it.

Maybe that’s how I can repair Savoa. Not by leading in the Tower, but from leading beyond it.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Kean says tightly. Then, after a brief pause, he adds, “There are several out there. We’ll be cleaning bodies this evening. Multiple bodies.”

Before I can respond, Kean turns on his heel and strides from the restaurant. I remain in place, watching until he disappears.

“My prince?”

“Make sure they send up that food,” I say. My mind is still reeling from Kean’s announcement, from the promise of multiple bodies . “I’m going out on the streets. I’ll see if there’s anyone I can chase off for Kean.”

I say it like I’m trying to win his favor, when really, the thought of those bodies makes it hard to think of anything else. I wait for Dae to challenge me, or at the very least, to question me. Instead, he only nods.

I leave the guards in Mimeo’s and head up to our stay. I know Rune is safe in the Chapter Building—it would ruin a hunter’s fun to kill someone here. Still, I’ll feel better when I see her, when I can make sure the door is locked and she’s safely behind it.

As soon as I enter the stay, I am met by the sound of arguing. The two remaining guards stand at a table near the kitchen, heads bent over a piece of parchment. They’re squabbling with each other, loud enough it takes them a moment to realize I’m here. They immediately straighten, standing at attention.

“Apologies, my prince,” one says. He is short and thin, barely reaching my shoulder. “We were just?—”

“There are hunters out,” I interrupt. I walk past them, heading straight for the master suite. Over my shoulder, I add, “Once Dae and Joran return, you are to come meet me. We’ll chase off as many as we can.”

I don’t hear their response. I move from the empty master suite through the entire western wing, checking the bathrooms, library, and office. My heart stutters when I don’t immediately find her, but I force myself not to panic.

“Joran and Dae will stay with the servants,” I say as I pass the guards again.

The main areas on the eastern wing are empty, too. I pause, only briefly, before throwing open one closed door after another. My magic pulses faster with each empty room, as if it realizes the truth before I do. I open that final door to an unoccupied washroom, and everything stops. My entire body seizes as I try to accept the impossible: she’s not here .

My vision narrows, and I storm back to the kitchen, feeling sparks of magic at my fingertips. I close in on the guard until I’m towering over them.

“Where is she?” I demand. “Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?”

“The—the servant, my prince?”

I don’t respond. My chest heaves as I try to regain control of myself, but I can feel everything slipping. If she’s not here, if she’s out there…

“T-they went to take care of the laundry,” the second guard stutters. He’s taller, heavier than the first. “About an hour ago. They left together, the two of them.”

“They left?” I repeat between my teeth. With a rattling breath, I grab them each by the throat, pulling them closer. They flinch beneath my hold, but I only tighten my grip. “You will find her. Understand? If you wish to live, you will find her. Alive and fucking untouched.”

“Yes, my prince,” the short guard says. He sounds terrified, but not half as terrified as he should be. As he will be if anything has happened to her.

“My prince—” the tall guard starts, but I’m already halfway out the door.

I sprint down the hall, sending orders to Joran and Dae through my arm piece. I surge into the stairwell, and immediately, my steps falter. A bag of laundry sits in the corner, slouched and abandoned. They left an hour ago, and they didn’t even make it off our floor.

“Fuck!” I scream.

I slam my hand against the wall and take off down the stairs, finally letting my magic go. It coils in my palms, growing hotter and brighter with each passing second. My surroundings blur around me, but I don’t try to calm myself.

She’s out there.

Someone grabbed them in the stairwell. It’s the only explanation that makes sense, but I realize it doesn’t matter now. She’s out there, and whether they’ve found her yet or not, she’ll have nowhere to go. No one to help her. She’ll be so scared, so alone?—

I burst through the Chapter Building’s entrance. Rain pours over the empty street, blurring my vision and making it difficult to hear anything but the sound of water against metal. I can’t see anyone. There are no hunters, no commoners…no Rune.

I look left, right, left again. If she was stolen from the building, that means the hunter already has her. I can’t let myself imagine it, and so I hope for some miracle alternative. Maybe she left on her own. Maybe she and Alven were exploring or escaping, and if that’s true, they might be far enough to be safe. It’s enough to calm me down. I suck in heavy breaths and force myself to think.

If they came out here to escape, they probably went south, where the buildings are most crowded. They could hide there for days without anyone finding them. The thought sours my gut—would have Rune truly left me, without even saying goodbye?

Of course she would , a cruel voice whispers from within my own mind. You weren’t going to help her. Fucking prince of Savoa, and you couldn’t save her.

I will , I vow. It doesn’t matter that I’m arguing against myself. I promise it anyway, that when I find her, when I bring her home, I will give her whatever she wants. Even if that’s a life far from me, I’ll get it for her and it’ll be somewhere safer than this fucking place.

A brutish scream erupts from the other side of the building, cutting through my thoughts. It’s the opposite way I planned to go, but I don’t hesitate now. I lunge toward it, sprinting until I almost collide with my brother.

Malek .

Of course it’s him. Of course he’s hunting when he knows I’m here.

“You—” I cut off, realizing who’s pinned beneath his forearm. Malek has Alven Tjor by the throat, pushing hard enough that his face is tinged blue.

Malek shoots me a lazy grin. His eyes are glazed over, so drunk with excess magic I’m not sure he knows where he is. Clearly Alven was not going to be his first kill, and I use my brother’s gluttony against him. I have a vine around Malek’s throat before he knows what’s happening, and I scream as I launch him across the alleyway. His body smacks against the side of the metal building, falling motionless in the shallow water.

When I turn back to Alven, he’s gasping for breath.

“Thank you,” he sputters. A bluish tint clings to his skin as he touches his throat. “I was sure?—”

I cut him off, choking him with one hand, covering the bruise Malek just left. Alven’s eyes widen, mouth bobbing without noise.

“Where. Is. She.” My voice is a growl, an animal’s last warning before striking. I only press hard enough to keep him in place, but I’m planning my next move if he refuses me. Or, worse, if he says my brother killed her.

My magic flares again, a burst of it that sends an unintentional shock against Alven’s skin.

“Where?” I scream, tightening my hold. I don’t have time for this—and neither does Rune.

“Building. Green roof,” he says, voice strained. “She ran for the…for the building with the green roof. That way.”

He manages a nod toward the nearest sloped street. I can’t see a green roof. He might be lying. He might not actually know where she went. He might know she’s already dead.

I don’t have time to hesitate.

I shove away from him and take off down the road. The colors and shapes of the City run together, but I don’t let myself slow, even as my lungs burn. I only stop when I hear a voice. It’s familiar, I realize, as I brace in the center of the roadway. Cold water bites at my ankles.

“I’d fuck a boar before I’d fuck you,” it says. Taunting and loud, yet vibrant too, like he’s having fun. I swivel toward Sorace’s voice. “Now open your eyes before this gets ugly.”

I sprint toward Sorace, dread filling my stomach when I realize he has someone pinned beneath a green roof. Hoping it’s not Rune, that she got away, that Alven was wrong. Hoping it is Rune, so I can save her and get her home. If it’s not her, I’ll break Sorace’s neck and keep moving. She can’t be far.

Unless she’s already dead.

Unless Alven sent you the wrong way.

I am surrounded by my own untamed magic when I finally reach them. It whips around me in violent streaks, flaring so bright and hideous I’m almost blinded by it. My mind struggles to process everything at once. Sorace and Rune. Him pressed against her. His hands on her face. Her body unmoving.

Blood trails from Sorace’s fingers, dripping down her pale cheeks. Rune’s mask is gone, probably in the water. Maybe stuffed in his pocket like a sick trophy.

I scream, throwing him as if I’m trying to move something ten times his size. I don’t know how my magic presents, whether it’s tangled vines or shattered stone. All I know is that when he hits the neighboring building, the entire structure shudders. The metal dents from his impact, and his body is reduced to a mangled pile of ripped flesh and broken bones.

Five steps, and I’m in front of her. I catch her waist as she collapses toward the water. She’s unconscious, her eyes frozen upward.

No.

She doesn’t look unconscious—she looks dead.

She is dead.

A sob wracks my chest. I pull her to me, sinking to the ground with her in my arms. I rotate until I’m leaning against the building, maneuvering her to my lap. Unmoving, not even the softest of breaths. Her head lolls backward, and I cry as I level her chin. Pretty blue eyes stare blankly at me. Distant. Empty. She’s not here—I can feel it.

I tighten my hands on her face, not letting myself look at the streaks of blood from Sorace’s murderous touch. I force myself to focus.

I can fix this. I have to fix this.

I close my eyes and dig through my bones until I feel every scrap of magic within them. When I open my eyes again, I don’t think of anything except pushing magic from my bones into hers.

I don’t know if it’s possible. Mortals aren’t like us. It doesn’t matter if it’s a servant, a commoner, an elite, a mortal guard. Anyone without powers has only enough magic to keep them alive. It keeps them breathing, walking, functioning. It doesn’t give them strength or the ability to wield.

What they’re born with is what they have. There’s no way for them to steal magic from us. But she’s not stealing—I’m giving.

“Come on,” I hiss. I study the soft outline of her blue irises.

I’ve taken magic before. It’s part of every descendant’s training. We practice on other descendants, only taking enough to learn, never kill. They never showed us how to give it back though. All I can do now is try the opposite. Instead of pulling, I’m pushing, forcing my body to go against instinct.

It takes a second for anything to happen. I’m holding Rune’s face, my forehead touching hers, and I’m digging through my bones. I’ve always been able to feel my magic. That’s how I cast it, how I send it through my fingertips and into the air, bending it to my will.

This is different. I’m not trying to use my magic; I’m trying to evict it.

My mind is a dull blade, cleaving my bones, ripping the magic in a way that feels permanent. It’s not going to come back. It won’t float in the air, do my work, and return home. These pieces of me will always be hers.

I scream against the pain. An unbearable pressure builds in my head, like the magic might explode my entire skull. My knees buckle, and when I drop my grip on Rune’s face, I realize I’m losing consciousness.

I break the connection between us, careful that the magic doesn’t try to return. My head continues to waver, but I can’t afford to pass out. I blink hard until my vision clears, at least enough that I can see her.

Still at first, but then her eyes flutter. They waver between opened and closed, but finally, they drift shut and a steady breath ripples from her lips.

Another sob cracks my ribcage.

She’s alive. She’s breathing.

I tug her against my chest, laying her head on my collarbone. She’s completely limp, completely unconscious, but I think she’s alive. Still, I know alive doesn’t mean she’s okay. She might not be the same with my magic instead of her own. I might have given her too much or too little. She might never wake up to find out.

I hold a hand over the back of her head, knotting my fingers through her hair. My breaths haven’t eased, and I don’t think they’re going to. With her clutched in my arms, I rise.

I’m unsteady. Wyhel. I had no idea I could transfer magic, but now I know why my people don’t. It’s horrible. Like I’ve been drained of half my blood. I push away from the wall, testing my footsteps. I’ve never felt this weak in my life. I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this.

This could kill me too, I realize for the first time. My attempt to save Rune might kill us both.

I stagger another few steps, to where Sorace lies unmoving. Half his body is visibly shattered, but he’s still breathing. His eyes open and shut, expression hazy, like he’s only half in this world. He makes no move to lift his hands or even to speak. He only blinks at me, each breath ragged.

I can’t risk passing out, so I keep my hands tight on Rune. Rather than casting, I plant my foot against Sorace’s throat. His mouth parts, but still, he says nothing. Stepping gently, I turn his face and force it beneath the water’s surface. His weak thrashing lasts less than a minute. And then, he stops, his eyes frozen in shock beneath the surface.

With an unsteady breath, I stumble backward. I had to kill him—I had to. His magic drifts out of him, swirling into the air like wisps of smoke. I should steal it. I know that. I’m dizzy and weak and it would make my trip back to the Chapter Building so much easier. I should steal it, and yet, I only stare as it floats higher, out of reach.

Murderer , I think. The word infiltrates my mind without permission, until it’s my only thought. I’ve never crossed that line. I was positive I never would.

After allowing myself a moment, I hug Rune tighter to my chest. I’m squeezing so hard I’ll probably leave bruises, but I’m too scared to loosen my grip. With a final look at Sorace’s corpse, I stagger back to the Chapter Building with her between my arms.

“Holy shit,” Joran says as I come through the door. I crash to the ground with Rune still held against me. She rolls out of my arms, unmoving aside from her labored breaths. I’d stopped every block to check for them, for the strained rise and fall of her chest.

I shift onto my side, moaning as I rotate her face-up.

“My prince,” Joran says. He steps over Rune to get to me, and something about the movement awakens my magic again. It’s a hard pulse, an echo of the transfer’s pain.

“Get her into bed,” I say, batting at his outstretched hands. My breaths are ragged. “Call for a healer. A female servant too. She needs dry clothes.”

“Yes, my prince,” Joran says, making no motion to leave. Instead, he places the back of his hand against my forehead. “What happened?”

“Get her into bed,” I repeat. My voice is so weak, as if I might be using my last breaths for this command.

This simple command that Joran still doesn’t do.

“You’re burning up,” he says instead. “We need?—”

“Get her into my bed. Now.” I try to scream the command, but it comes out like a broken sentence. “That’s an order, guard.”

Joran makes an unpleasant grunt, like he’s tempted to disobey. I open my mouth to threaten him, with what I don’t know, when he finally lurches to his feet. He scoops Rune into his arms, without half the care I’d managed while fighting a blackout. Within seconds, he’s back, calling not for extra blankets but for as many medics as the Chapter Building can offer.