18. FRANCOIS
I watch the great, hulking Digger beast crumple onto the gravel.
Obviously, he doesn’t know he’s a beast—he thinks he’s just a man named Taliesin who clawed his way to the top of a pile of industrial trash.
But I can sense the power of his life force—his heart beats the desperate pulse of a creature that refuses to go quietly.
And I can taste the predator in him, even as his nervous system short-circuits from the abyss I carry in my own marrow.
Most men would have died from that palm-strike—their hearts simply forgetting how to beat.
But this man just went dark—temporarily.
Probably.
I stand over him in the pale, sickly yard light and feel the hum of the Null-Wards vibrating against my skin.
They are supposed to be the ultimate equalizer, the death of magic, but to my creature they are nothing but static on a radio. I draw my power from poison, the dark, fear, and the slow decay of the human spirit.
In this sun-starved pit, I am the only thing that can truly thrive. Be alive.
Apart from her.
My heart does a slow, heavy thump; it no longer beats as a mortal man, as I feel her eyes burn into me.
Aurora.
Her gaze is like needles of perfect ice piercing the back of my neck as she finally sees what a real predator, a real protector, looks like.
Even without looking, I know the exact shade of blue her eyes have turned—that electric hue she only gets when she is truly impassioned.
My father thinks he can tame her storm with a cage, but old men are so unimaginative.
Why try to domesticate a wild, beautiful creature when instead you can ride the maelstrom together?
Father also believes a marriage contract is a deed of ownership. Roi des cons.
My plan is that he’ll soon find that deed null and void. Unfortunately that relies on Cosmo Drakeward. The dragon is taking Father to court to regain guardianship of his sister. While I would never underestimate Cosmo in a battle of wits, the legal system is rigid and archaic.
So, while they bicker in the courts, I am here to ensure that when the gavel finally falls, Aurora is still in one piece to hear the verdict.
And I am so delighted to once more be in her company, though her face is a tapestry of bruises, purple and yellow blooming across that fine, aristocratic bone structure. My fists curl tightly at the sight of it.
Who dared lay their filthy, unrefined fingers on her skin?
Retribution will come, but for now, I shall contain my fury.
Ma chérie.
She seems to have lost that haughty mask she used to don. She’s raw now.
Not crude, she could never be that, but the gloss, the refinement, has been lost.
Is it because she has joined the underclass, not the Guild? That, I did not predict. I should have done, because she is, after all, a contrarian.
And one who has yet to understand my motivations.
She stares at me wide eyed, seeing only the son of Thomas Crankshawe, but that is only a fraction of who, and what I am.
But in one respect, I am indeed, my father’s son.
Our desire for Aurora Drakeward is unmatched.
Though my father wants her as a broken little doll. What a waste that would be.
A sacrilege.
I want her viscerally, I crave to be the reason she can’t breathe, to be the only thing she sees when she closes her eyes. She may still hate me, thrown off by the idea I took the knife from her to save my father.
But, of course, I did not. I was saving her.
She’ll understand soon enough.
But for now, let her hate me. Let her fear me. The unravelling of her heart will make my time here only more interesting.
Talking of which, it seems I am now the newly anointed “King of the Diggers”.
No, that’s wrong. The proletariat do not have Kings; they have gaffers, head honchos, bossmen—or bosswomen. I’m sure this class of human offers equal opportunities.
Or maybe not. I haven’t spent time enough with them to know.
C’est la vie.
I’m the Boss.
And what I’m actually supposed to do with this rabble?
It matters little to me, but I am aware of the hundreds of bleary, bloodshot eyes focused in my direction.
How tiresome.
A greasy, tête de noeud, of a man comes scuttling toward me.
“Yes?” My stare stops him from stepping too close. I need not have his odor in my nose, more than it already is.
“Uh, sir. The name is Danny,” he sniffs. “I ain’t no fan of the last Boss, so, like, I’m ready to be your go-to, if you want?”
Ah, he’s a rat, the kind that thrives in the shadows of stronger men, feeding on the scraps of whatever kingdom is currently collapsing.
I find him utterly repulsive.
“Merci, Daniel. That is convenient, because I am in need of some assistance. Bring me a dozen more men.” I snap my fingers imperiously. He jumps to my command and I wait quite patiently until a group of rough-looking thugs are positioned in front of me.
Ugh, the trials of power.
“I am not a butcher,” I announce. “And have no desire to kill a man who fought so…spiritedly. But, I anticipate your former bossman will act disagreeably on waking, n’est-ce pas?”
They look at me like a dumb herd of oxen. Once more for the idiots. “I assume this previous boss will want to cause me trouble.”
The men shift nervously until the rat speaks again. “Ah, right. Yeah, Boss. Taliesin’s gonna be a real pain in your ass.”
As I predicted. “Then I think we must have him restrained for the foreseeable future. Is there such a place in the, er, Diggers block?”
Daniel blinks, still a little confused. Then he leans in, smelling of a desperation so sharp it’s almost edible. “I guess there’s the cage?”
“Is that a suggestion or a question?” I ask him, but when I see his confused face, I wave a hand. “Never mind, continue.”
“Er, right. The Bossman has a double cell. One side is, like, yours, and the other is a cage which you can lock people in. He’s had his little Elite slut locked in there for weeks.”
He has? Interesting.
She will be so relieved to be freed by me. Grateful.
Very good. I clap my hands together. “That sounds parfait, Daniel. Please have your men carry him there.”
The ugly man’s chest puffs out when I place him in a position of authority. Insecure egotism is so easy to manipulate. “It seems you are a man I can rely on, Daniel.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, er, Bossman.”
“And so, where are the keys to this aforementioned cave? Cage?”
He rustles around in the pockets of his fallen leader and triumphantly produces a ring with several keys.
“Bravo. So, lead the way. I have a kingdom to explore.” Ah, non, not a kingdom. What would Daniel call it? I snap my fingers again. Got it. “Show me to my new territory.”
The air grows heavier, warmer, and more suffocating as I follow the procession into the bowels of the prison. I can sense the heartbeat of the Admin block through the ceiling, then the Guild high above that on the upper floors.
But down here, it’s a labyrinth of rusted iron, damp concrete, and indescribable smells. It makes me begin to wonder at my choices. Still, I am here, so onward.
Onward to my new future with Aurora. Though she is wary of me, I cannot but think my presence will be a balm.
Daniel leads the way with a swagger that is entirely unearned, swinging the keys like a trophy. Behind him, four equally dismal inmates carry the unconscious man. They handle him with a mixture of fear and newfound disrespect. Such an interesting dynamic.
And then the energy shifts. Without looking around I sense her, following us many yards back in the shadows. I raise my hand, and the procession grinds to a halt.
“Join me, Aurora, please.”
I’m not sure if she will, so I am pleasantly surprised when she pushes toward me, flanked by an extraordinary Amazonian, and the direct opposite, a meek and crying squab, Aurora doesn’t glance in my direction, but I feel her emotion. I can taste the hatred, and slight panic, radiating off her.
She’s not the one who should be worried. Whoever hurt her is going to pay.
The desecration of her face fires up my blood, but I try my best to temper it.
Retribution can wait.
So can Aurora’s unfolding.
When it comes, her realization that she is mine, and I am hers, it will be all the more sweet for the pendulum swing of her emotions.
The thought brings a smile to my lips. My dearest, angry girl.
We reach the cell.
On one side; a bed and a table, a basin and, shudder, a metal latrine.
On the other, the sparsely furnished cage.
Very well.
“Put him inside, on the floor,” I tell them. They dump the fallen Bossman onto the concrete, and they are not gentle.
He groans, a low, animal sound, but his eyes remain shut. The poison is working its way through his blood, slowing his heart, turning his strength into lead. It must be painful.
“And her?" Daniel asks, his hand lingering on the cage door, his eyes darting toward Aurora.
My beast circles inside me, whipping its tail in anger. This vermin believes he has the right to even look at her?
Venom stirs in my veins, a cold, oily slick of toxins. I could stop his heart with a whisper, leave him a husk on this floor for his insolence. But not yet. A King needs a fool, and Daniel fits the jester’s costume perfectly.
And his question is valid. What do I do with ma petite?
I think…a choice. I am magnanimous.
“Do you wish to play nursemaid, Aurora?” I gesture to the cage before us. “Or would you prefer to have a bed made up next to mine?”
“I’m happy to be anywhere that keeps bars between me and you,” she snarls, walking willingly into the enclosure with the grace of a queen entering a throne room, rather than a prisoner entering a box.
I’m not surprised by her defiance, but my lip curls as she immediately falls to her knees next to the unconscious “digger”. The way she touches him with those delicate fingers has me regretting my decision to give her a choice.
Daniel slams the barred door shut, with far more vigor than is necessary, then hands me the key, like I’ve been presented with the Crown Jewels.
“What do you expect me to do with that?” I ask.
“Um, lock them in?”