The Fury She Holds (Paths Unbound #1)

Chapter 1

Charred flesh always coated Talwyn’s nostrils and ruined her appetite, but nothing would stop her from melting the skin off Pochette’s bones. In the alley below, he arranged for an ambush in exchange for a measly bag of coin. Tonight, Pochette would burn, and Talwyn would make sure of it.

Torchlight illuminated Pochette’s gnarled hand. His thumb pressed a slip of paper against his palm while his other fingers clawed the air, useless.

Talwyn grinned to herself at a distant memory; one with threats, promises, and a kiss from the cold steel of her dagger.

A cloaked figure stood opposite the thug. It took the paper with an eerie grace that sent chills down Talwyn’s spine. “You guarantee she’ll be here.” Its voice echoed through the alley, a muffled, emotionless sound.

Pochette’s balding head nodded once. “I can give you the others, too.” His voice shook with unease.

“But you need to get me out—tonight.” He searched the alley nervously.

His good hand fiddled with a loose button on his faded green jacket.

Patches and stains littered his once-luxurious suit.

Yet, it would still sell for a week’s worth of meals in the docks.

Talwyn seethed on the rooftop. If she hadn’t already planned the man’s demise, he would have just sealed his own fate.

She crouched over the eave. Her well-worn black leathers clung to her body in the humidity and drowned her in darkness on the moonless night.

A hood concealed the mahogany-dyed hair that clung to her neck.

The handle of her dagger offered comfort against the rage warring within her.

“That was not part of the deal. We have no use for the others,” the cloaked figure said impassively.

Pochette spluttered. “Then I’m a dead man. I’m exposed. My men are vanishing. Even if you take her tonight, the brats will suspect me.”

His companion reached out its arm, an offering concealed beneath the voluminous sleeve of its dark cloak. “Then I suggest you run.”

A wooden door smacked against the side of a building, followed by a commotion outside a tavern opposite the alley. Pochette jumped and cowered in the shadows. Two figures, hanging onto each other, cackled and stumbled down the cobblestone street.

Talwyn’s ears perked at a familiar presence on the rooftop. Carrick’s massive form crouched beside her, and she inhaled a relieved breath. Their plans were moving along smoothly.

Pochette hesitated, shifting his bulbous frame from one foot to the other.

Another roar of laughter filtered into the alley, and he swiped his companion’s offering.

Coins clinked within the leather pouch as Pochette hugged it to his chest. Without a farewell, he hobbled out of the alley and down the street.

The cloaked figure dissolved into nothing but shadow, and Talwyn gasped. Whoever Pochette had involved himself with knew magic more powerful than she’d ever seen.

“Bastard,” Carrick growled. “He deserves less than you’re giving him.”

“He’ll suffer all the same. Still no information on his companion?”

Carrick shook his head, his attention locked on the spot where the cloaked figure once stood. “Rain will be interested to learn it can disappear, though.”

Talwyn nodded. “Send Egan to sniff around the surrounding area. Maybe it left a trace of some kind. You and the twins search for any others nearby, then meet me at the Kiln.”

Carrick grabbed her arm. “We stick to the plan. No wise ideas this time.” His deep brown eyes reflected the orange glow of a distant torch.

She scoffed. “You know better than to give me orders.” She turned without another word.

Talwyn trailed Pochette from the rooftops. His portly figure hobbled down the empty street at a snail’s pace thanks to years of overindulgence in food, ale, and debauchery. His labored breath echoed through the alleys, leaving a trail for Talwyn to follow.

Silence ruled the night as if the docks knew its tyrant’s power had run out. Not even the Netters rolled their carts down the cobblestone streets in search of homeless women to fill their brothels.

Pochette had established power long before Talwyn made a name for herself recovering stolen items, stealing secrets, and making another’s problems disappear.

He made it clear he didn’t appreciate her interference when he put his greedy hands on her and forced her into a deal.

In another life, Talwyn would have cried herself to sleep when the monster had violated her, but Talwyn had survived on nothing but stubbornness and hatred.

Whoever she could have been had died on the cobblestone streets of Meladair.

The night he touched her, Talwyn washed the feel of his calloused hands from her body with more ale than she had ever consumed before.

She burned the clothes without a thought and scratched herself raw.

Pain offered more comfort than the feeling of her cotton shirt caressing her cursed skin.

The next night, she stalked Pochette back to his home and watched him go about his evening.

He ate and drank as if returning home from an honest day’s work.

While he slept, Talwyn wore an indent into the leather wrapped around the hilt of her dagger.

A fresh image of the man’s future suffering accosted her with each grating snore.

Before the end of the week, her dagger met his flesh in a vow of more to come.

Tonight, she would fulfill that promise.

Pochette ran right into her trap. On the street ahead, Talwyn jumped to the ground using the edge of the roof and the building’s windowsills.

She waited in the shadows until Pochette came into view.

When he stepped in front of the open sewage drain, Talwyn ran full force into him, ramming her shoulder into his ribcage, earning a deep grunt from the man.

She shoved, and Pochette cried out as he fell toward the hole in the ground.

He pitched sideways and disappeared into the darkness below.

Another of his cries echoed when he splashed into the tunnel.

Talwyn descended after him, landing on her feet as she pulled a dagger out of its sheath. “Get up,” she hissed, her blade aimed at his throat.

Pochette struggled to his feet and gulped audibly.

She nudged him east. “Walk.”

“You can’t kill me.” His shaky voice didn’t match the conviction of his words.

She jabbed the weapon toward his back, and Pochette flinched away. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

“My men will burn your little crew alive.”

Talwyn laughed humorlessly. “They’ll never get the chance.”

He made a few more attempts at intimidating her, but eventually the echo of his efforts died along with his hubris.

They walked the remaining distance to the Kiln in silence.

Carrick waited at the steel door, his hulking frame leaving little space to pass through.

Pochette eyed him warily as he approached, halting inside the entryway.

Carrick kicked him in the lower back, and the man stumbled to the ground, sprawling in the center of the room.

Unlike the stone tunnel outside, steel lined the large, domed area.

There were no windows or other doors this far underground.

The only breaks in the metal were a grate in the ceiling’s center and another on the floor directly below.

Torchlight reflected off the walls, disrupted only by smoke stains and char marks. Black soot powdered the ground.

Carrick placed a wooden chair over the grate in the center and hefted the now blubbering captive into the seat.

Pathetic, Talwyn thought. For all the violence he’s brought to the docks, the rat can’t handle any directed at him.

Carrick located the hooded figure’s leather pouch and stashed it in his pocket. He nodded to Talwyn when he finished tying Pochette to the chair.

She dipped her head in response before he left the room and closed the door behind him. She stepped up to Pochette and noted the wet spot between his legs with disgust.

“Tying me up? Too weak to fight me honorably?” Sweat dripped down his temple.

“The time for honor has long passed, Pochette. I thought I made that clear at our first deal.” She nodded to his right hand, clawed around the arm of the chair.

“You’re nothing. You’ll never have the power I have. The docks will never let a woman replace me,” he snarled.

“We don’t need a power-hungry tyrant.” She eyed the spot on his pants. “With you gone, its people will have the freedom they deserve.”

“Then you’re prepared to face the evil I’ve kept away these last twenty years? Without me, they’ll destroy everything I’ve built.”

“If your measly crew of criminals kept this so-called power out of the docks, we’ll have no issue protecting the people.

” There had been no indication of a foreign power reaching Meladair.

Warring factions in the southern kingdom were the closest indication to any sign of conflict, but Talwyn had no reason to believe they made their way north.

“Then you’re a fool.”

She slammed a dagger down on each forearm, and Pochette’s scream echoed off the walls. “The only fool here is you.” He flinched at her proximity. “How many girls have you taken to your bed? How many did you steal off the streets and sell to the highest bidder?”

“I haven’t touched a single—”

“Your recent chastity does nothing to fix the twenty years of damage you caused. How many women still remember your stench on their skin? Are a few years enough to atone for that?” She spat at him. “Your reign is over.”

“Then do it already! Get it over with!” he yelled at her, flinching when she shifted one of the blades.

“But it’s so much more fun when you suffer.” Her lips pulled up in a wicked grin. “Tell me,” Talwyn’s fingers twitched, eyeing his damaged appendage, “can you still feel with that hand?”

Pochette’s wide eyes darted around the room, uncertainty lining his brow.