Chapter 14 #2
It’s one of the largest in Florian, just outside the old city walls on the border between the inner wards and the middle. Stavros visited the Crown’s Watch here more than once in his capacity as general—and then after while investigating the conspiracy at the college.
He directs us around the squat stone building and down a side alley. There, he points up at a tall window on the second floor.
“That serves as an additional exit if the Crown’s Watch needs to move out quickly,” he murmurs. “They can pop it open and make the short jump into the alley while others are heading out the front and back doors. Since it’s up there, they don’t bother guarding it.”
So no one should notice if it briefly opens and closes for our invisible figures to enter.
I give myself a shake in preparation. “All right. I should be able to handle the lock.”
Stavros bends down and boosts me onto his shoulders. Once he’s straightened up, I can easily reach the base of the window.
I pull out the slim metal tool I brought along for this purpose and wiggle it into the narrow gap between the frame and the ledge.
With a little maneuvering, I manage to slide over the deadbolt. I ease the window up an inch, listen, and then push it farther so I can wriggle inside.
My magic jitters with the urge to wrap even more protection around myself, but no figures stir at either end of the hall I lower myself into. Once I’ve set my feet on the ground, I tug the pane even higher.
Rheave scrambles after me with another boost from Stavros. Then the former general hefts himself after us with the two of us grasping his arms.
We huddle together so we can see each other clearly despite the charms. Stavros points in both directions down the hall, his voice the barest whisper. “The sleeping quarters are all up here—almost every room. They won’t be locked. I’ll be heading down to the dungeons in the basement.”
I give his hand a quick squeeze. “Get through this mission as quickly as we can manage it, and then we’ll meet by the grate as planned.”
An ache forms around my heart letting him go, but if anyone can look after himself in a potential combat situation, it’s Stavros.
As he turns toward the stairs, I nudge open the first of the doors to the police force dormitories.
Some members of the Crown’s Watch go back to family homes when they’re off for the day, but many choose to live in the guardhouse, especially the younger men and women who aren’t married and want to be out of their parents’ homes or those who’ve traveled from outside the city to serve.
I guess it must come with a sense of family somewhat like what I’ve found with my men.
Now, the narrow beds set up along the walls of this room are filled with Order members. Lothar took over all of the Crown’s Watch’s properties when his people stormed the city, and he’s using them as bases of operation.
Which means a significant number of the figures sleeping in these beds aren’t people at all but daimon in animated clay bodies.
With one hand on my shoulder so I can see him, Rheave points to three of the beds. Those three are daimon like him.
I set my fingers over his in a quick reassuring touch and move to the first form he indicated.
Casimir picked out the pot of black makeup I retrieve from my pocket. It’s a type that stains the skin semi-permanently rather than simply covering it temporarily.
Ever so gingerly, I use a soft brush to dab a few dark streaks on the side of the man’s neck, just below the edge of his blanket.
By morning, the dye will have set. A mark will remain through at least a week of washes. But it simply looks like a slightly unusual smudge of dirt or soot, not anything purposefully put there.
Only the Black Talons people prowling the streets will know what those marks signify. They’ll kill the captured daimons’ bodies in public places so more and more witnesses will see the proof of the Order’s unnatural magic—and so those daimon can go free rather than serving their slave masters.
When I reach the third sleeping figure, I have to tug her blanket down a little and brush her hair back from her neck. She lets out a sleepy sigh.
I freeze with a lurch of my heart. Only when she remains still for another several seconds do I lower my brush.
In theory, Rheave could have burned these marks. But the jolt of pain would probably have woken the targets. This way, we can mark them all without alerting anyone.
We move from one room to the next, marking neck after neck. Looking down on all the faces relaxed with sleep, my gut starts to twist with the thought of their future deaths.
They aren’t really people, of course. The daimon are trapped inside those bodies, not there through their own will.
But if any of them would have liked to take the bodies as their own like Rheave has, to experience everything mortal life has to offer, they’ll never get the chance.
That’s the scourge sorcerers’ fault, not ours. They set the daimon on this destructive path.
I can’t help feeling a little guilty about it all the same.
Neither of us speaks as we work our way through the rooms. By the time we get to the end of the hall, I’ve marked nearly two dozen sleeping daimon.
I’m not sure whether to be more horrified by how many of the spirits Lothar’s people still hold captive or how large a force they’ve installed in Florian in general. This is only the Order lackeys who didn’t take the night shift, and only one of several guardhouses around the city.
The leader of the scourge sorcerers knew how hard he’d need to fight to keep control over Silana’s capital. But our current forces might not be enough to tackle even one guardhouse, let alone all of the scourge sorcerers in the city.
I reach the last bed Rheave has indicated and draw back the blanket to reveal the sleeping man. My brush smears the inky makeup across the side of his neck—
And his skin twitches. He startles awake with a grunt.
My power leaps up my throat, but Rheave shoves past me in an instant. As I rein in the frantic call to subdue our target by whatever means necessary, my partner clamps his hands against the man’s mouth and chest.
“We want to help you,” he rasps in a hushed voice. “I used to be like you, but I’m not anymore. Can you take control? This body could be—”
The man starts to thrash against his blanket. Whether for his own reasons or because of the magic still binding him, he’s not interested in a peaceful resolution.
Rheave lets out a pained noise—and a hiss of his daimon magic.
He hits the struggling form with enough power to reduce the clay statue that should have appeared into black dust. A smoky, earthy smell trickles into the air.
I grasp his shoulder, grimacing in sympathy. “You had to do it.” Another few seconds, and the guard might have woken up the rest of the room.
We both stare down at the shadowed bed with its heap of charred clay dust, a bizarre murder scene. I gather my resolve. “Come on, we’d better clean up the body so no one realizes what happened.”
Rheave nods silently. We gather the remains of the clay body in a bundle of the blanket and sheets, and Rheave carries it with him on our way back to the window we entered through.
Rheave jumps down first and turns so I can use him as a sort of stepping stool. Several buildings over, we shove the bundle of fabric into a refuse bin where no one is likely to notice it. Then we hurry on to the sewer grate.
Stavros is waiting there, standing right on top of the grate so my gaze can easily find him despite the charm trying to divert my attention. His quest was a lot less time-consuming than ours.
I touch his arm to bring him into focus. From one glance at his grim face, I know he didn’t find what he was hoping for.
“One of the captains I’d have counted on has been killed,” he tells us as we step back from the grate so he can open it.
“I think another may be still alive but held in one of the forts outside the city—Lothar might have hoped she had information that would be useful as the Order establishes itself in Florian.”
Which means the advisor will be torturing the woman for her loyalties. I offer Stavros a tight smile. “Maybe we can get her out soon.”
He gives a rough chuckle and bends toward the grate. I’m just turning toward Rheave when a sudden blast of magic slams into the side of my head.
The last thing I hear as I topple to my knees is Rheave’s frantic shout.