21. The Snare
THE SNARE
TALIA
Holloway had been at the garrison all day, some kind of emergency, so Talia spent the day studying Vael’s journal.
The “gods” described themselves as immortal, but they’d died, one after the other, within fifty years of settling in Sovana.
There was a clue there. It had something to do with the mystery of flux channeling.
She was so focused on her work she lost track of time. Three quick raps on the door jolted her from her notes. Her hands shook as she shoved the journal back into its drawer and locked it.
When she opened the door a crack, Webb stood in the hall, coat half buttoned. He was breathing hard, eyes cutting down the corridor.
“Good, you’re here,” he said quickly. “You need to take a walk.”
Webb had never visited her here. How did he even know how to find her room?
Talia frowned. “What? It’s almost curfew.”
“Exactly.” He slipped something from inside his coat, a folded note with a broken seal. “This just came in. I wasn’t supposed to see it until morning, but I was working late on field assignments.”
She reached for it, but he held on. “Don’t read it out here. You need to take a walk. Skip the office tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Peat and Nadir are being sent on assignment to Haven, leaving tomorrow. Emmer won’t be in.”
“Wait, they get field assignments? What’s in that letter?”
He laughed nervously. “It’s an arrest warrant. For you.”
“No. That’s not possible.”
“Sure it is.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I mean, I read it, so…”
He held it out, and the paper trembled between them. She pinched it between two fingers and drew it to her chest. Now that she had it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to read it.
“When did all this happen?” Her mind was racing. Was this about her meeting with Lore? Who told?
“Today. Just now. The enforcers will be by in the morning. Or maybe sooner.”
Talia swallowed hard. “Thank you for letting me know.”
He nodded, but he was already backing down the hall.
“I can’t be seen here,” he said, then he turned and ran.
When she shut the door, the room seemed to spin, and her pulse roared in her ears.
Holloway said there was an emergency situation at the garrison.
What if he was working on this? What if he was coming home now to arrest her?
Her mind jumped to the letter she’d burned.
She’d thought they were past it, but apparently not.
She packed mechanically. Notebook. Cloak. Riven’s revolver. All the contents of her secret drawer. She laced up her sturdiest pair of boots. When she switched off the lamp, the room fell into blue shadow. She hesitated at the window just as the curfew bell started pealing.
“Just a walk,” she whispered to no one.
Riven’s canvas coat still hung behind the door. She almost left it, but then she tugged it down. Who could say when she’d be back.
She stopped at the end of the hall to knock on Riven’s door. She had been avoiding him for the past few days, but he’d know what to do. No one answered. He was either asleep or out past curfew. She told herself she could handle it, but panic burned hotter in her chest.
It was even cooler out than she expected, and she was grateful for the coat. The streets were empty. She kept her head down and walked briskly. The scuff of her boots and the hum of power lines were the only sounds. Every corner felt too exposed. A dog barked, and the echo died too quickly.
Her breath came shallow. She needed a plan.
Lore would take her at Starfall, but he was a last resort.
Cannon might be an option. The old stablemaster hated enforcers, and there was a hay loft at the corral where she could hide out.
But she couldn’t shake Webb’s agitation, his panicked glances down the hall.
She didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.
She slowed at the next corner. Someone was there. She heard a scrape of leather, the faint jingle of spurs. She bit her lower lip and reached slowly into her satchel for the revolver.
A voice came out of the dark, soft and amused. “Evening, sweetheart.”
Flint Jones stepped out from the mouth of the alley. Birdy loomed behind him, broad enough to fill the space between buildings.
Gods. Anyone but them.
Flint tipped his hat. “Turns out you’re more than just a pretty face.”
She took a step back. Her hand closed around the handle of the revolver in her satchel.
“Easy now.” Flint’s smile widened. “We can do this the nice way or the not-nice way. Both work fine for me.”
“Whatever you think you’re doing—”
“Just delivering some cargo.” He nodded toward Birdy. “You know there’s a reward for bringing you in?”
She pulled the gun out of the bag, tried to remember what Dawn had taught her. Thumb the hammer.
Flint laughed. “Look at that. Girl’s got a gun.”
Birdy chuckled, low and thick.
“You know how to use that, darlin’?” Flint took a step closer. “Because I do.”
She pointed the gun at his chest, but it was visibly shaking in her hands.
“Go away,” she said. Her voice came out thin. “I will shoot you.”
“Will you?” Another step. “Because you didn’t shoot me last time. I’m not sure you really mean it.”
She hesitated, and it cost her. Birdy moved faster than a man his size should.
His hand—massive, rough—clamped around her wrist and twisted.
Pain shot up her arm, and the revolver clattered to the planks.
Then his other arm was around her waist, hauling her backward, and she was up against solid muscle.
His forearm crushed her ribs, forcing air out of her lungs.
She tried to scream, but his palm covered her mouth, fingers digging into her cheeks. His smell was everywhere, sweat and leather.
“None of that now,” Birdy cooed.
His emotions hit her at the same time: anticipation, satisfaction, lust. Simple as an animal. He dragged her deeper into the dirt-packed alley. Buildings pressed close on either side. Flint sauntered after.
She drove the heel of her boot back into Birdy’s shin. He grunted but didn’t loosen his grip. She twisted, trying to use her weight, but he was heavier.
“Bounty says alive,” Flint growled. “Doesn’t say untouched. You try and yell again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
She thrashed harder. Birdy’s grip shifted to her wrists, pinning both her arms behind her back. The angle made her shoulders scream. He forced her forward into a stack of crates. The wood bit into her stomach and knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Flint stepped closer. His hand caught her chin, forced her to look at him, her cheek pressed into the rough wood. A thumb traced her lower lip.
His emotions washed over her, darker than Birdy’s. Cruelty edged with pleasure. He enjoyed this. His power. Her panic.
“This won’t take long,” he murmured. “Then we’ll get you where you’re going.”
Navigator guide me. Thyss protect me. The prayers came automatic, desperate, even when she knew no one was listening.
Flint’s hand closed around her throat. “Bet you taste expensive.”
She twisted her head and bit down on Flint’s wrist. Her mouth flooded with the taste of dirt and blood. He roared and jerked his hand back. She sucked in air, lungs burning, and screamed—
His fist caught her temple. White pain exploded across her vision, and the alley lurched.
She sagged against the crate. Birdy’s grip loosened, but she couldn’t run. The crates were the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Flint was behind her now. Hands bunched in her skirts, yanking them up.
“There we go,” he said roughly. A knee pressed between her thighs, forcing them apart.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the roaring in her head. A belt buckle clicked open. Leather hissed as it slid through loops.
She was outside her own body, looking down. Flint’s anticipation peaked—
A series of metallic clicks was the only warning before a gunshot cracked the air.
Birdy’s emotions snuffed out, and her wrists were free. Something heavy hit the ground with a wet thud, and Talia slid down to the dirt too. Her whole body was convulsing. When she looked over, Birdy’s lifeless eyes stared back at her.
Flint jerked back, belt hanging loose, scrambling for his gun. He shouted something that got drowned out by another shot. A window shattered overhead, raining glass.
Gun smoke filled the alley, thick and acrid. Her throat burned, and she coughed. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ears.
Flint backed into the shadows, gun drawn. Someone stepped through the smoke, blue fluxlight catching on a drawn revolver.
And then darkness took her.