Chapter 21 #2
The old gambling den is a gloomy shadow of its former hedonistic splendor.
The lights seem dimmer and the building hollower without the chorus of music and laughter spilling out of it.
We gather at various points around the perimeter, using the alleyways and side streets to get close without being seen.
Corrin helps with his shadows, but where we’re both perched on a roof opposite the building, we’re already hidden enough.
“Nice touch with the symbols,” I mutter to Corrin, examining the fresh graffiti on the steps of the building. Corrin told me he’d crept over in the night and put it there himself.
“Thank you,” he says, surprised by my compliment. “Lafia gave them to me. She said she was inspired by the Morelium calling Ana Mithanas. Apparently, these are some of the goddess’s marks—death and destruction and all that.”
When we’re all in position, I close my eyes and push my awareness down into the earth below me. Less than a minute later, Corrin leans past me, looking down curiously. I can tell he hears it: the rustling, slithering noise of hundreds of snakes winding through the streets.
Of course, there aren’t many snakes to be found in the city itself, but I spent the night sending out the call, my magic coaxing them in from the surrounding countryside.
Snakes can be very obliging as long as you ask nicely enough, and they arrived in their droves, lurking in gutters and shady corners, waiting for the moment I gave them the signal.
“It’s fucking incredible,” Corrin breathes as we watch the tide of curling, scaled bodies rise up the steps to the gambling den.
The Temple moving into this street has scared off most of its usual residents, so there’s no one to shout a warning, to give the clerics inside any sign of what’s about to hit them.
Ssssss…Barb pokes her head up higher to get a better view. When do I get to join the fun?
Sorry Barb, venomous snakes only, I reply. Plus, you’re too little; you’d just get stomped on.
She hisses in protest but watches with enjoyment as her brothers and sisters do their work. A scream goes up inside the building, telling me the snakes have found their first target. It’s soon followed by more bellows and shrieks.
When the first cleric comes sprinting from the building, trying to shake a snake off her robes with flailing limbs, I turn to Corrin.
“Your cue, Mr. Wadestaff,” I murmur.
He gives me a wicked smile. Darkness surges across the street, swallowing up the front of the building, the surrounding alleyways, and the cleric. The noises of terror on the ground grow, but I listen carefully to the hissing, hearing what my scaled friends have to tell me.
“The humans are pouring out of the building,” I say. “Most of them are in the street now.”
Corrin nods, lifting his fingers to his lips to release a sharp whistle—the last signal. Now they’ve driven the clerics out, I send the snakes on their way via the back of the houses where they’ll be safest from trampling feet. Then the citizens of Hallowbane seize their moment to attack.
From our position, we can see them surge from their hiding places, disappearing into Corrin’s mass of shadows with lit torches and raised weapons—clubs and irons and the occasional glinting dagger.
I’m warmed by the idea of those clueless clerics, still trying to work out which god has visited a plague of darkness and serpents upon them, about to be actually struck down by the ordinary men and women they’ve terrorized for months.
“Care to join?” I ask Corrin to the background noise of forty clerics being set upon by angry civilians.
“I’d love to,” he says, offering me his hand.
We climb down from our rooftop perch—Corrin’s surprisingly nimble, for a human—landing at the edge of the darkness.
With a nod at each other, we both dive inside.
The dim light of the torches is enough to see the battle raging within the shadows, and the next few minutes are a symphony of suffering as I twist and stab.
Eventually, I follow one cleric out of the edge of the darkness, only to find him caught in Corrin’s fists, quivering as the dark-haired man glowers down at him.
“Tell the high inquisitor the gods don’t consider the Temple welcome in this city,” Corrin hisses, throwing the cleric to the ground. The priest scrambles up and sprints down the street without a backward glance.
When the screams stop, Corrin clears his shadows.
The light reveals a sea of red-robed bodies and a crowd of bloody, bruised, and triumphant Hallowbane residents.
Corrin moves through the carnage, congratulating them like a benevolent king.
They almost treat him like one, shaking his hand and nodding at him as he compliments their efforts.
I stand at the sidelines, watching it play out.
This street might technically belong to Wadestaff the crime lord, but all these people feel like they’ve won something for their city today.
They weren’t fighting for some gambling den, but for their freedom.
Corrin understands that. I’m starting to realize it’s why he’s here too—not just because his empire was snatched from him and he wants revenge.
We enter the gambling den with some of his old employees, who diligently start taking stock of the damage.
Corrin and I examine his office together.
Despite the assault on the building the last few days, it still looks remarkably well-kept.
It seems the clerics who’ve been occupying the den saw no reason to get rid of the office’s comfortable couches and drinks cabinets.
Corrin pops one of the cupboards open, pulling out a bottle and two glasses.
“Here,” he says, pouring me a few fingers of amber spirit. He does the same for himself, then lifts his glass.
“To the scourge of the Temple, Damia Rhymis,” he announces dramatically. I don’t suppress my smile in time, swigging the burning liquor and shaking my head.
When he lowers his glass, he wanders around to his desk, examining the papers on it, occasionally tutting at some mess the clerics have made. He looks completely at home—the lord of his manor. The sight fills me with a strange mixture of pride and sadness.
“You must be happy, now you’ve gotten what you wanted,” I say.
He meets my gaze. “Not everything I wanted.”
He doesn’t say it with a wink and a smile. There’s something more emotional on his face—vulnerable even. I can’t work out if I want to run far away from that vulnerability or headfirst toward it.
“Corrin…”
“You know, every time you say my name, a thrill runs through me?” he says, moving around the desk to step closer toward me. “Every time you look my way, I’m like an excited child, so pleased to get your attention.”
“I doubt that,” I say, my pulse quickening as he gets nearer. “Half the time I’m glaring at you.”
“I don’t mind. Because you’re being yourself. Unapologetically, perfectly, you. Except when you keep turning your back on this,” he gestures between us. “That’s when you’re not being true to yourself.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You don’t know what’s in my heart.”
“And no one will, if you never let them in. But a few high walls aren’t going to put me off, Damia,” he grins. “I’m a good climber.”
I stare at him, not understanding why he keeps fighting for this—for me.
Why does he care so much? Why do I, for that matter?
Why, when I watched him fall in Qimorna and I thought he might be dead, did my whole world feel like it was tilting?
What hold does this quick-witted, roguish human have on me?
The whys keep piling up, but all it takes is one, soft touch from Corrin—a hand cradling my face—and I shove them all aside.
I pull Corrin to me, kissing him so thoroughly we’re both left breathless, our foreheads resting together. My hand roams southward, pulling on his belt so that we’re pressed close, our bodies both responding. Corrin’s eyes briefly close, and he makes a low, delighted sound.
“Are we going to do this and then not talk about it again for two weeks?” he asks. “Just so I know how to plan my time.”
“No,” I say, flushing a little as his eyes open to look at me again. Does he always have to bring up how bad I am at this? Not the sex, obviously—I’m fantastic at that—but knowing how to navigate these inconvenient emotions I keep having.
“I’m…” I look for the words, but they don’t come. “I…ugh…just shut up and take off your clothes, will you?”
He laughs at that and kisses me again.
In the end, I take Corrin’s clothes off for him, which he enjoys immensely, after which he makes sure to return the favor. We explore each other for hours until, both exhausted by the day, we collapse together on one of the office couches, dozing as the afternoon stretches on.
When I wake, I see through the window that the sun is sitting low in the sky; it’s almost time to be at my post. I slip my clothes back on and head out into the corridor, scooping up Barb from the abandoned shoe she’s made herself cozy in.
Ssss…the nicccce human issss your mate now…yesss?
I sigh, shaking my head and wondering once again how Corrin’s managed to charm her.
I suppose I should be asking myself the same thing.
I want so badly for this to not have been a mistake, because I know it will cost me greatly to walk away from it.
But I also understand what this city means to Corrin.
He’s just clawed an important part of it back—can I really expect him to abandon it to focus on the bigger picture? I’m still not sure that’s who he is.
It’s complicated, I reply to the snake.
She hisses unhappily. She’s often frustrated by people and their strange ways.
I exit the gambling den and head toward Yard Road.
My coded message to Sophos told him I would be there at sunset every evening until I received his response.
Of course, I don’t just stand out on the corner like a sitting duck; I climb up onto the roofs of the street, settling down on top of the healer’s place I visited with the princess and the captain what feels like years ago.
I crouch there on my perch, watching the shadows lengthen as the hot sun starts to sink below the horizon. My muscles tense with interest when a black shape comes toward me, winging across the air currents with swift grace.
A large crow lands on the roof beside me, surveying me with its dark, shining eyes. There’s a tight scroll of parchment tied around its leg, and I move slowly forward so as not to startle the animal. It ruffles its black feathers a few times but permits me to remove the scrap of parchment.
Barb hisses unhappily, burying herself deeper into my shirt. She doesn’t like big birds. They make her nervous.
As the crow tilts its head and flaps its wings, taking off, I notice the shadows out of the corner of my eye shift. For once, I don’t grab for my blade or jump.
“What does it say?” Corrin asks, stepping out from the shadows.
He obviously dressed in a hurry, wearing only a loose white shirt hanging untucked over black pants.
His dark hair curls about his face in a slight wave.
On balance he might just be the handsomest thing I’ve ever seen. It makes my chest ache.
“I haven’t read it yet,” I say. “But I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s Sophos giving me a time and place to meet.” I glance across the rooftops, back toward Grove Street. “Should you be leaving the den, when you only just got it back?”
Corrin waves his hand. “I’ve got Vasily and Warren guarding it with Lana. Besides, the clerics aren’t likely to try returning in a hurry if they think the gods are involved. It’ll be safe enough for me to leave it while we go to meet the bearer.”
“You still want to come?” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, hiding the stupid hope in it.
“I made a promise to Her Highness,” Corrin says. “And I might not have made a promise to you…” He holds out his hands, as if searching for the words—or perhaps the courage—needed to continue. “But I will if you want me to,” he finishes.
My breathing’s shallow as I look out across the city. The golden light of the setting sun warms my face. I don’t think I can give him the answer he wants yet, but if he’s really in this with us, then maybe there’s some hope on the horizon.
“Alright. Let’s go see a bearer,” I say, turning to meet his gaze. “Together.”