Chapter 6 #2
Every eye in the city was trained on me—every passerby a witness.
Not that any of them mattered when the police were already reaching for their weapons.
I was as good as dead with the blood of the Governor on my hands.
The crime of the century, and its punishment my burden to bear, and I felt it both heavy and hollow in my stomach. There wasn’t even time to run.
Time…
Beneath the concealment of my cloak, I slipped my hand into my pocket once more.
“Hands where we can see them!” the nearest copper shouted. With the body of their boss at my feet, they didn’t need a jury to convict me. I was theirs to deal with. If I hesitated to obey, they’d shoot me right away.
My thumb found the face of the element I sought, and my bones filled with a stinging solution, replacing my marrow with a throbbing ache.
I’d never really used this remnant, though I’d practiced enough with the bone of a Forge Archetype to know that time was hell on the body to manipulate.
I had to act quickly or risk letting it slip out of my control.
I paused time with the activation of the time rune, living in the moment my life had been ruined beyond repair for a brief eternity.
I had to move quickly, no matter how long I suspended the second.
Even with the unprecedented power at the ends of my fingers, there was no magic in the realm that could turn back time itself.
The pulsing pain in my bones forced my chest to breathe, and I inhaled a long suck of air before turning on a heel from the dead man at my feet and running for my life.
It was a sluggish effort, charging past my mule with a broken cart, frozen in the moment.
Moving through still time was like running through water, and it only fanned the flames in my bones.
The first drops of a spring rain hung from an unmoving sky.
The wind lifted the coats of people at the sides of the street, their faces twisted in alarm.
I wove through them all, eager to find somewhere beyond the markets and the traffic to release the tension of time.
When I finally made it to an empty alley closer to the Grand Canal, I let it go.
My back fell against the shadowed face of a brick wall to catch my breath and replace the burn with a warm vapor that clung to the air.
I couldn’t linger long. Not when the city echoed with commotion.
The police would be looking for me, and I needed to get back across the canal before they traced my cart to Bernard—to my mother.
We would have to leave the city as soon as possible.
But how? They’d figure out my name. They’d send warnings to the surrounding outposts and cities. There was surely no route that led to Sanctuary—if it even existed—that didn’t pass through an active port.
My mind spiraled, trying to find my next step, my next foothold, when whistles rang out a few blocks over.
I pulled my hood over my head, focusing first on escaping the guards on my trail.
The only sound in the lonely alley was my heavy breath and the whir of boat engines from the Grand Canal just a block over.
If I could make it to one of the smaller bridges before they shut them down—
A force knocked me onto my back just as I turned the corner to head down the alley, and I found myself staring up at a somber sky.
The dice in my pocket burned awake.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I growled, scrambling to my feet. My gaze darted to every shadow, every corner, until his presence made itself known with the snatch of my hair at the base of my skull. Wet fingers tugged at my roots until my neck bent back at a harsh angle.
“You’ve gotten yourself in deep shit, haven’t you?”
I figured the question was rhetorical, given our positioning.
“Against the wall,” he commanded. “Don’t move.
” He shoved me against the nearest building, pinning me in place with the force of his magic.
My body worked against my desires, flattening my back against the brick as his power purged my control.
Glamour magic. Every demand he made was a stolen choice. I was stuck until he released me.
Canal water dripped across the narrow alley space as he neared, wet clothes pressed against his form like a second skin.
His shirt was plastered against the lines of his chest, and my fingers recalled too well every contour composing him.
Silver hair was slicked back, with a few stubborn strands falling over his forehead.
He appeared less like a drowned man and more like something feral that had been dragged up from the depths of the sea—dangerous and devouring.