Chapter 11
Eleven
Avalon
The man in front of us, who—according to all of Iker’s sources—ran the largest underground black market and general anti-establishment organization in all of Ebrus, was a face I’d seen merely weeks earlier.
Moran Ingmire, spare Heir to the Fifth Line, sat before us, grinning.
“When they told me we had such esteemed guests at the front door, I hardly believed it, but here you are. What brings you to my little dark corner of the world?” He was addressing Vox, though his eyes flicked to Hayle just as often.
His smile turned self-deprecating. “Daddy issues giving you drama? Almost a universal experience in the Upper Six Lines at this point.”
I snorted a laugh. “I’m from the Ninth, and I can promise you, it’s not just an Upper Six affliction.”
Finally, Moran’s eyes turned to me. “Oh, you’re the Halhed daughter? The crazy one?”
Hayle growled low in his throat. “Don’t call her that.”
Moran waved a hand. “If Roman Halhed is the definition of sane up there in the north, I’d want to be the crazy one too.” He stood, leaning over to shake my hand. “Moran Ingmire, also known as Boot. You are…?”
He was charming, that was for sure, but not my brand of charming. “Avalon.” I pointed to Lierick and Iker. “These are my friends, Lierick and Iker.”
Moran stared at them for a lot longer than would be considered polite, but didn’t say anything as he shook their hands too. “Come on, we’ll head back to the bar. I feel like this conversation is going to need a drink or two.”
He wasn’t wrong. We followed him out of the office, toward a second bar inside the Broken Heart Inn. Everyone was doing their best to appear like they weren’t watching us out of the corner of their eye, but I could still feel the weight of their gaze.
Moran held up a finger at the bartender, who grabbed a jug and started to fill it with ale.
There was a table in a darker corner of the room, and Moran waved us into the chairs before slumping down on his own, his back to the wall.
“So, my sources down in the Sixth tell me you’re the Spryrix.
A lot of excitement over that,” he said to Hayle.
I tensed, and Hayle’s gaze flickered to me. I didn’t miss the guilt that passed through his expression. “People talk too much,” he grumbled.
Vox’s hand found my thigh under the table, squeezing it comfortingly. I knew I should follow his advice from earlier—clearly, it was serious when my stoic, stubborn lover was being the reasonable one.
But my pride was hurt. No, it was more than that.
My feelings were hurt, and I didn’t know how to get past that.
There had been one constant in all these life-altering moments; my powers, Lierick, being on the run.
It’d all been okay, because I could trust that Hayle would be there to protect me. That he’d have my back.
Him changing into a monster post-sex had ruined all of that.
Moran smirked. “They don’t have a lot of excitement down there.
The Sixth Line eke out a pretty miserable existence if you ask me, but they’re fiercely loyal to their Line, and to the idea that better days are coming.
If you give them even a little bit of hope by just existing, I can’t see how that’s a negative thing. ”
“Except now an entire Line knows the Third’s greatest political secret,” Hayle muttered back. “Though I guess, we might be even now. An Heir running a criminal network seems unusual.”
I slid my eyes to Lierick, who had that expression on his face that I was beginning to associate with him reading the people in the room. The bartender appeared with a jug and several glasses, giving Moran a respectful nod before moving back to the bar.
“Is it, though? This is where the real Fifth Line exists, not up there in the Great Hall with the Baron.” He sneered as he said it, and I got the feeling that there was no love lost between Moran Ingmire and his father.
“So tell me, what brings you south of your gilded halls, Heir Vylan? Or are you even still Heir? My network tells me that your father sent assassins to murder you in your sleep. Nothing like paternal love, am I right?”
Vox’s face gave nothing away, but his hand flexed on my thigh gently. “Before we speak of this, I need your word that nothing we say leaves this room.”
Moran shook his head. “I can’t swear to that. The safety of my people comes first, and to be blunt, I’d screw you over for any of these lovable reprobates.” He waved a hand toward the room.
My lips twitched. I believed him, and honestly, I respected it.
Vox did too; I could see it in his expression. “Then I’d like to soundproof this conversation, if I may.”
Moran’s eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. “I appreciate you asking. Go for it.”
I felt the slide of Vox’s power over my body as he created a dome of silence around the table.
He cleared his throat. “My father is trying to starve out the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines in order to sway the Conclave in his favor, but more than that, he believes that they are a burden on the system and would best be eradicated.”
Moran’s eyes grew stormy. “I know. Word got to us too late to prevent the supply ships sinking in the Alutian Sea. My network can do many things, but even we can’t go up against the Baron’s guard, let alone the Dawn Army.
” He shook his head. “I also know he isn’t the only one who has those beliefs among the Conclave. ”
“What if I told you that there was someone who could do something about it? Would you offer support?”
Moran had a sip of his ale. “We can’t exist in what-ifs, Vylan. That’s why we formed the Underground. I can’t help them up there, but down here? We can get my people what they need, even if it isn’t exactly legal.”
Leaning closer, Vox lowered his voice. “I mean it, Ingmire. If I could find someone who could sway the Conclave and stand against my father, would you join them?”
Moran’s face gave nothing away, and I wondered if they trained all the Heirs in that stonewall expression. He looked at Hayle. “Has the Third Line gotten onboard with whatever he’s suggesting?”
Hayle nodded sharply. “We’ve never agreed with Baron Vylan’s version of eugenics. There’s no love lost between the Third and the First.” He tilted his head at Vox, giving him a small smirk. “Well, most of the First. This guy is okay.”
Silence fell over the table, and Moran tapped his glass with his fingernail. “Even if I pledged the Underground to your cause, we are spies and thieves, not soldiers.” I guess that explained who Liselle was gathering information for down in Doend.
Vox was shaking his head. “We don’t need you to be anything more than what you are.” He looked at Lierick once more, who nodded. “The Second Line has resurrected, and they want their seat back on the Conclave, and to return to their ancestral lands in Ebrus.”
Moran stared, then burst out laughing. “Fucking Goddess, Vox Vylan. I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, but that was a good one.
” He took a large sip of his drink, but when no one else laughed, he lowered his glass.
“You’re serious? Vox, you studied the same histories as I did.
Your Line eradicated them all—every man, woman and child in their bed. There’s no way.”
Leaning forward, Lierick raised an eyebrow.
“And yet, here we are.” His jaw twitched—the only outward sign he was using his abilities—and Moran’s hand raised, his fingers fluttering in a wave against his will.
The Ingmire Heir’s mouth fell open as he stared at his hand like it had betrayed him.
Lierick let go of the magic, and Moran’s limb fell to the table with a thud.
Lierick tilted his head. “Lierick Hanovan, Heir to the Second Line. This is my cousin, Iker. And we’d really like your help.”
Moran made a gesture with his fingers, and someone ran out of the room.
Braxus launched toward them, but Moran lifted a hand to stop him.
“He’s not going to get the guard. I can’t make decisions like this by myself.
I need to get my… partner, and we need to have this conversation back in my office. ”
I guess this was another one of those leaps of faith, where we had to assume that the Goddess had a plan and wasn’t about to screw us over epically.
Silently, we stood and followed Moran back into his office, sitting around in a loaded silence as we waited for this mystery partner to appear. Not even ten minutes later, the grizzled guy who let us through the wall opened the door, gesturing for his leader, and Moran disappeared out of the room.
Fidgeting, I tried to get comfortable. I wanted to sit beside Hayle, to take comfort in his strength, but I couldn’t. Because he was a lying liar-pants.
“Avie…” the Lord of Liartown murmured, and I glared at him.
“Now is not the time,” Vox said softly. I turned away from Hayle, my heart hurting.
The door reopened, and in came someone I didn’t recognize, though the guys obviously did. Given his similarity to Moran, with the same straight nose and brows, he had to be related.
Vox stood, reaching out to grip the man’s hand. “Neho. Well, this is also a surprise. Both of the Heirs of the Fifth Line running an underground criminal network is… unusual.”
The man, Neho, hummed in agreement. “A night for surprises, I see. My brother told me of your proposition, and we’re willing to help on one condition.” He ushered everyone back to their seats.
Lierick inclined his head. “What condition?”
Neho wasn’t jovial like his brother. He had haunted eyes and two deep lines on his forehead that spoke of hours spent frowning. He already had a light dusting of gray at his temples, even though he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than us.
“We intend to overthrow our father.” He turned to Vox.
“We seem to have that in common. When he is gone, I’ll become Baron and I’ll pledge our soldiers to your cause—on that you have my word.
But I can’t do that until our younger brother, Powell, is returned.
He was gifted”—he spat the word, like it was poison on his tongue—“to your family in exchange for all the masonry jobs in Ebrus, and preferential treatment from the Baron of the First Line. He was given to Yaron specifically, as an act of good faith.”
Vox tensed, his whole body going rigid.
Even I knew what that meant. Everyone in Ebrus knew about Yaron Vylan’s proclivities, though that was the sanitised word for what he did. He was a sadist, a psychopath, and I wouldn’t want to be his plaything for even five minutes. I’d rather die.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Vox said solemnly.
Neho Ingmire’s face gave nothing away. “In exchange for our unfettered support, I want you to rescue my brother and take him as far from here as possible. Leave him somewhere safe, where he can heal and be happy.” Neho’s voice wobbled toward the end of his statement, though his face didn’t shift.
Vox looked between the rest of us, and I nodded immediately, as did Hayle, Lierick, and Iker. No one deserved to be tortured by Yaron Vylan, especially not for the sake of rich, powerful men becoming more rich and powerful.
“We’ll do it, but we’re going to need some resources.” He stood, shaking Neho’s hand, followed by Moran’s. “May your father and mine rot in the fucking underworld for what they’ve done.”
Neho’s jaw tensed. “If the Goddess has any sense of justice, they will.”