39. Kiera
Chapter 39
Kiera
I return to the North Tower and leave Kalix in the main room as I ascend to his bedroom which has now become Regis’ sickroom. Pushing the door inward, I peer at the bed where Regis lies, his face a pale sallow color. I nudge the door further open and enter, striding across the space—past the weapons hung on the walls and the hiss of Kalix’s snakes under various pieces of furniture—until I reach the curtains against the massive window on the other side of the room.
Gripping large handfuls of the thick fabric, I snap them outward, revealing the fading afternoon light and letting it spill into the otherwise dreary room. A scaled creature slithers out from beneath a nearby chair, coming cautiously closer until the snake sidles up next to my booted foot beneath my skirts. I arch a brow at the animal before shaking my head and going to the bedside. The quiet wheeze of Regis’ breath is accompanied by the short rise and fall of his chest. At least, he’s breathing, I think. That’s something.
I tap my hand against the wall, high up where a small crevice creates a space between the headboard of the bed and a crossbow hung sideways from a hook in the stone. A moment later, a familiar set of fuzzy black legs appear and Ara sticks them out to crawl from her little nesting place down to my upraised palm.
“Any changes?” I ask.
The emotions she pushes into me are both good and bad news. No change means he’s still alive, but it also means he’s still not awake.
I lower my Spider Queen to the nightstand as I lift a pitcher of water and pour it into a small basin. Dipping a cloth into the water, I use the wet fabric to stroke the side of Regis’ face, cleaning his skin of fresh sweat.
“You’re starting to look like a true Nezeracian,” I tell the unconscious man absently. “Only a man of the Hinterlands would have a beard so thick.”
Lightly tracing that very beard with the wet cloth, I feel my chest grow tight. I dip the cloth, getting it wet again, before wringing it free of the added water.
“I’m still mad at you,” I say. “You fucking betrayed me to Ophelia. I know you’d tell me that we’re all hungry in the Underworld—hungry for power, for freedom, for what we’re all searching for and hungry dogs are never loyal, but I…” My hand stills over the side of his cheek. “I expected better from you. I expected better from my best friend.”
Hot coals burn behind my eyes, threatening to send the emotions I’ve kept bottled for so long into an explosive eruption. Blinking back the tears, I turn away from Regis and drop the wet rag into the bowl before taking a seat. The conversation with Ruen and being unable to leave the North Tower without someone spying on me has made it nearly impossible to catch any true rest and I’m beginning to fade from the constant vigilance.
I sink further into the cushioned chair at my back, staring at the familiar face in the bed and hoping against hope that one day soon, he’ll wake up. When the dream starts, I don’t even realize it because it’s not a dream at all, but a memory.
11 years old…
Hot breath sears the inside of my lungs as I run. My feet slap the stucco stone pavement as I race after the sandy-haired asshole that is at least several paces in front of me. I grit my teeth and force my legs to go faster, knowing that to call after him and demand that he slow down would only earn me another trip to the dark room.
Pain, I can hear Ophelia say, is only temporary. You cannot expect others to help you, so you must help yourself.
If I were a betting kind of girl, I would bet all of my worldly possessions—which equals the clothes on my back—that she stuck me with the kid from my induction simply because he’s a sadistic monster who likes it when I get in trouble.
I lift my head as we near the next alley and realize with mounting horror that we’re almost at the end of our training obstacle course. I can’t come in last again. I can’t.
The back of my neck burns with the effect of the brimstone sitting beneath my flesh. It’s an ever-present ache that often leaves me crying into my cot in the middle of the night when the pain becomes too much to bear. One day, I’ll be able to ignore it. One day, I won’t even notice the constant buzz of the ache that ricochets up the back of my skull to invade my thoughts at all hours of the day or night. One day, I’ll be strong.
But even if that day is not today. I will not come in last again.
Putting on a burst of energy that forces me to feel the tug of power pulled through the sharp stab at the base of my skull thanks to the brimstone, my feet fly over the stone beneath me and as I round the next corner, I spy the object of my victory. Without stopping to think about my actions, I hang to the side and race right up the half broken wooden slat that is propped against the wall and use it as leverage to leap onto the rooftop of the building to our right.
The loud snapping noise of the wooden slat is my only warning as the too-weak plank gives way, but I’m already airborne. My hands slap the wall, two fingers hooking onto the rooftop shingles. I flinch as I feel a hard tug on one of my nails, but I don’t hesitate to swing my body upwards, grappling onto the shingles and using what pathetic little arm strength I have to yank myself the rest of the way up.
When I get there, rolling onto the steaming hot roof and feeling my skin burn when it meets the stone that’s been cooking under the sun for the last several hours, I pop back to my feet, shaking off the pain in my hands. Regis is already way ahead of me, but our end goal is in sight and he’ll still have to stop to climb towards it.
I take off running again, flying over the shingles and barely noticing when a few break free under my boots, sliding towards the street and alleyways with loud crashing noises. I’m panting, sweating, praying to the Gods—almost there. I’m almost fucking … there.
A cry of victory leaves my throat when I see Regis finally stop at the end of the next row of abandoned homes that act as part of our training ground today. I’m moving faster than ever before, the wind shoving the sweaty strands of my hair off my face. Relief is an initial sensation that’s quickly overcome by a strange sort of rush that I haven’t felt in a long time. I recognize what I’m feeling in the next instant—it’s triumph. I haven’t won one of these training exercises. Not even once since I was thrust into the program after my deal with Ophelia.
The pain of the runs and sparring exercises is nothing compared to the senseless beatings of the dark room, but at least here, I have a chance. The pain here is my body strengthening itself. The pain in the dark room is my body losing its control while my mind takes over the task of being strong.
Today, though, will be different. Today I will be the victor.
Glee floods my veins. Below, Regis bites out a curse and then takes several paces back from the stone wall that is now his obstacle. He takes a running start, leaping several feet more than any normal kid would be able to and hooks a hand over a jagged, uneven rock that juts out from the wall. As soon as he grasps it, however, it crumbles and he’s falling back to the bottom.
My heart beats a faster rhythm as I sprint towards the white flag that sits at the top of that wall. I leap from one house to the next as Regis tries again, taking another running jump and finding another hand hold. The second one holds stronger than the first and I force my body to hurry in response.
Sweat streaks down the sides of my face and my body, coating every inch of visible skin, but I don’t care. Regis scales the wall below, moving slow but still with decisive steps.
Don’t think about him , I urge myself, refocusing on the flag that hangs against the pole just ahead. There’s no breeze save for the air that slides past me as I run. It makes these exercises all the more difficult and all the hotter.
One step. Two. Regis’ hands closes over the edge of the roof.
No! I mentally scream as I turn the last ten-foot difference between me and the flagpole into nothing as I stop and jump. I soar forward, catching the flag with the tips of my fingers. Just as Regis rolls to his feet upon the shingles, I tear it away and hold it up.
“I won!” I cry, chest heaving. Holy shit. I actually won.
Adrenaline still shooting through my body makes my steps shaky as I take one stumbling step towards Regis and hold up the flag as proof of my victory. “I won,” I state again, brandishing the white piece of cloth.
His lips twist into a scowl. “You probably used your Divinity,” he sneers. “Can’t take a human without that power of yours, huh?”
I blink at him and slowly lower my arm and my prize with it. “I didn’t use my Divinity,” I snap. “I beat you fair and square.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away. “Fucking Mortal God.”
Regis doesn’t get two feet towards the edge of the roof where I’m sure he’s planning to leap back down so that we can be on our way to meet up with our trainer. He doesn’t get there.
I throw the flag against his back and it hits him right between his shoulders before thumping to the shingles below our feet. Regis looks back, noting the fallen flag, and then pivots to face me slowly.
“Why are you such a dick?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips as my chest rises and falls in sharp, stuttering breaths. “I haven’t done anything to you!”
“You’re of Divine blood,” he snaps back, nose wrinkling as he toes away the white cloth at his feet as if it’s been contaminated now that I’ve touched it. “That’s reason enough to dislike you.”
I jab a finger at him. “You’re … you’re…” I don’t know what to say but my fury hasn’t abated and all I really want to do is punch him. So, that’s what I do. I drop my finger and take a running jump at the jerk who’s made my training miserable for the last year.
I see the widening of surprise in his eyes right before I slam into Regis. The two of us fall to the rooftop in a tangle of limbs and tiny fists. I punch him in the gut, relishing in the soft whoosh of air that escapes him before he flips me over and slams me into the curved shingles.
Kicking and punching, I feel the prickle of angry tears at the corners of my eyes and shove them back. Even if he’s a dick, I still remember the words he told me when we met in the induction area of the Underworld—no one will care if I cry anymore, least of all him.
Regis knocks me off himself when I attempt to crawl back on top of him to get a better position for punching. “For fuck’s sake!” he snaps, getting back to his feet. “Just leave me alone, you little runt.”
“We’re both in the Underworld,” I huff as I, too, clamber back up on shaking legs, holding my fists up as I wait for him to try and hit me back. “We have to work together.”
He doesn’t. Instead, his upper lip curls back in disgust and he shakes his head. “I don’t know why Ophelia took you in and I don’t care. I don’t care about you and I certainly won’t help you with any of our future missions.” He points to me and glares. “I’ll give you this one warning, runt. You are nothing to me and it’s because of your people that my brother was taken from me. I don’t care what Ophelia says. Don’t ever expect me to help you.”
With that, Regis turns and stalks away. I frown, lowering my fists, and glance down as his booted foot stomps right over the white flag—the first one I ever won. This time, when the tears come, I don’t hold them back. I let them roll over my cheeks for several minutes before wiping them away and reaching down to pick up the now stained flag.
Holding it close to my chest, I sniff. “I didn’t do anything,” I whisper. “I’m just trying to survive.”
My only audience, the flag, doesn’t reply.
17 years old…
The whisper of my dagger slides through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood spills, drenching my fingers. I wait a beat and then release my victim’s mouth as he falls to the ground, lifeless.
Wiping the stained edge of my dagger against the black fabric of my trousers that won’t show the blood stain, I step over the corpse and keep moving into the dark tunnel leading from the edge of the mountain towards the God city, Nysa. The sound of footsteps and low voices in the vicinity echo off the stone surrounding me. I plaster my body against the wall, the bite of ice stabbing through the thick cloak I wear to penetrate my senses.
“Hurry, bring him this way.” The words are courtesy of a fat bulbous man with a ring of thin hair circling his head. He lumbers ahead of two men dragging a third between them. Despite the first man’s obvious access to food, the two following him and his orders are rail thin, their eyes sunken with cheekbones jutting from their faces from lack of nutrition.
I lick my dry lips and keep to the shadows as the group passes right by my hiding place. The fat one holds up a single torch to light their way, his eyes bouncing right and left. None of them see the body of the guard I’ve killed.
Pathetic. I shake my head. Truly pathetic.
“Where is Krychek?” the fat man gripes. “Damned guards are worthless.”
My eyes glance down to the corpse at my feet. The ‘Krychek’ the man is talking about, I guess. I almost feel bad about the man getting a bad reputation, but then again, he’s dead so the fat man is right. He is worthless now.
“Mr. Guillot, he’s too heavy, we can’t carry him much further,” one of the skinny men says hefting the much larger figure between himself and the other servant, his voice sounding strained. The man they’re dragging along the floor moans lightly, his booted feet nothing but dead weight between them.
I’m going to enjoy rubbing this rescue in his face. He once told me he’d never help me if I needed it and now the one person he hates more than any other in the Underworld is here, ready to save his ass from a mission gone sideways. He won’t hear the end of it for years to come.
“Keep fucking moving!” the fat man, Mr. Guillot, barks. “I swear to the Gods if you disobey my orders, I’ll whip both of your hides until you’re bloody.”
My smug smile falls away completely and becomes a scowl. My fingers clench the dagger still in my hand. Rescuing Regis isn’t the only reason Ophelia had sent me. I can’t kill the fucker holding him just yet—I need the information we were contracted for first. So, against my own wishes, I remain a shadow as Gideon Guillot—merchant of stolen goods and secret peddler—orders his servants to carry Regis’ unconscious body deeper into the mountain tunnels. Following them for several minutes on silent feet, I stop when they finally come to a halt at the end of one offshoot of the main cavern.
Guillot glances back and licks his wide lips before finding a rock on the side of the flat, dead-end wall. Lifting the rock and putting it against a small indention, I release a low breath at the ingenuity of the secret passageway. The rock, innocuous and loose against the wall, becomes the key needed for the dead-end wall to move inward, the clanking of mechanics soundlessly opening the door that leads beyond.
“Hurry it up!” Guillot snaps as he steps to the side and gestures for the servants to carry Regis’ body ahead.
Just before Guillot steps into the opening, he turns back and tosses the rock key back out and the door slides shut. I wait a beat and then a few more, until I’m sure they’re far enough ahead for me to use the door myself.
Finding the rock key, I use it and watch the masterpiece of a hidden door open before dropping the key and hurrying after my quarry. Guillot doesn’t get far into the new section of the mountain before it opens up into a massive cavern. I bite down on my lower lip in shock and amazement as lights become clear—glittering in long strings held at the end of the tunnel to reveal the city beyond.
And what a city it is.
The scent of cooking meat and the smoke and ash of fires filter through the open series of caves that have been dug out to make room for the stone houses. Guillot takes a rock staircase with an iron railing to the left that leads down into the streets below, trailing after his servants.
There aren’t just people here, I realize, but families—children. Peering out from behind the tunnel entrance, I watch as a ball skitters across one of the pathways between stone huts, a boy of no more than five chasing after it.
“Ophelia is going to be pleased about this,” I mutter to myself. I’d assumed that I’d get some hint as to where the Hollow City was. I never thought I’d find it myself.
The hidden city beneath the mountains surrounding the God city Nysa has been on Ophelia’s list for as long as I can remember. I step up to the railing, confident now as Guillot and his servants make it to the end of the staircase and move toward a shadowy alcove. Now that he’s in the Hollow City, Guillot stops glancing back, his shoulders straightening, and his steps more assured.
I shake my head in disgust. How the fuck had Regis gotten caught by such a stupid bastard?
I mentally catalog the location that I’ve entered through, sure there are other entrances hidden throughout the other caves. Those will have to wait though. I’ve got the information that Ophelia wants. Now, it’s Regis’ turn.
Turning towards the stairs, I take them down two at a time, keeping my eyes scanning, ever assessing. The air beneath the mountain is hot, stifling, but I can’t help but understand the reasoning of the people living here. As far as anyone knows, no God or Divine being has ever been here. If people like Gideon Guillot, with their secrets and betraying ways, continue to inhabit it much longer, this place will soon become like all the rest. My chest aches at that thought.
This place, this city, is a safe haven—the one, sole mortal-run city on the entire continent. For hundreds of years this place has been kept hidden, and as I follow my prey, I know that there will be more blood on my hands before the night is through.
No one can ever find this place. I refuse to let someone like Gideon fucking Guillot—who’d sell the information this place holds for a handful of denza—ruin what has held strong for so long. Even if it means it’ll displease Ophelia. I have to hope that finding the city, itself, will be enough to save me from punishment because before the end of this night, Guillot’s blood will run over my dagger and his life will become another in a long line of those I’ve taken.
Shaking away the thoughts of my impending target’s death, I hurry along the streets, keeping my cloak up and my hood covering my face. I pass a few others, though not nearly as many as one would expect in a normal city. Like me, they, too, often wear face coverings. Identities are as secret here as the city itself, it seems.
I catch up with Guillot as he stops in front of a stone hut and bangs on the door. A moment later, the door slides open and he waddles inside, followed by the panting, sweating duo carting Regis’ body.
There are two windows, bare slits into the stone, on either side of the door, and I wait until the coverings over those are closed before I creep closer. I cross the path and sidle up against the outside of the hut, tilting my head as I listen for what they’re doing inside. Reaching mental fingers out, more than a few little minds react to my phantom touch. I close my eyes and let their minds meld with my own. Suddenly, I’m in the hut. Though the point of view I’m watching from is obviously from the floor, half hidden behind some large wooden crate, it’s enough to show me everything.
One. Two. The servants following Guillot drop Regis’ body to the floor and hunch over. One gags and is promptly slapped by Guillot as he strides across the dirt floor and brings his meaty fist down on the other man’s head.
“Don’t you dare,” the fat man sneers before he turns to the unknown.
The woman who steps out of the shadows is trailed by another man. Unlike the servants that brought Regis, this man is more than just a lackey. He’s obviously also the woman’s bodyguard with his big shoulders and square cut jaw dotted with scars. He’ll be my main focus, I decide. The first one I’ll need to take out to get to Regis.
My attention turns back to the woman, taking in more details. Her dress is long with ruffled skirts the color of deep indigo. The color, although expensive and beautiful, does nothing for her pasty skin tone. She appears so pale that at first, I think she’s ill. Then she flicks her finger at Guillot and I realize her hand is a shade or two darker than her face. Makeup, I conclude.
Guillot takes the woman’s fingers and bends, pressing his fat lips to her knuckles. “Madam Rose, you’re as beautiful as ever.”
She shakes him off with a huff. “What have you brought me?”
Guillot doesn’t take her actions as offense and straightens away from her. “This man was sniffing around my businesses looking for information on the Hollow City. He’s of good stock—tall, muscled—I thought perhaps if he wanted to know about the Hollow City so much then you might make use of him.”
The woman, Madam Rose, takes a step towards Regis and with the toe of her boot, she nudges him. A moment passes and Regis doesn’t move. She snaps her fingers and her servant jolts forward. “Turn him.” Her words are crisp but denote a strange accent I’ve never heard before.
Her bodyguard follows her command and hefts Regis’ body up, flipping him so that he lands on his back. “Oh my.” Madam Rose bends over him and the image of Regis’ bruised face disappears from my view. Gritting my teeth, I soften my irritation lest it make the spider, whose eyes I’m borrowing, uneasy.
“He’s quite beautiful,” Madam Rose comments. “He’d make a good addition to my harem.”
Guillot rubs his hands together almost gleefully. “My thoughts exactly, Madam.”
“Did you have to mar his pretty face?” She straightens away from Regis and sniffs in disdain.
“He fought my men; it was necessary,” Guillot replies. “But of course, he’ll heal. We didn’t damage him further.”
“Why is he unconscious?” she asks. A question I certainly would like answered as well. Regis, for all that he’s a big stupid asshole brute, would never normally allow himself to be so vulnerable for so long.
“Drugs,” Guillot says, confirming my suspicions. “They should wear off before too long. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t escape or attempt to harm you when I brought him.”
Damn it. If I have to carry his ass out of the Hollow City, I’m going to throw him off the mountain itself.
“I’ll likely need more if he’s that dangerous,” Madam Rose says. Obviously, the fact that Regis is there against his will matters not to this woman. At my sides, I clench my hands into fists.
Nudging the spider to take a look around to see if there is anyone else in the vicinity, I keep an ear out for their conversation.
“I can provide you with enough drugs to keep him docile, Madam Rose,” Guillot continues. “For a price of course.”
“Of course,” Madam Rose replies as if she expected as much. “But will they disrupt his ability to … perform the tasks I’ll expect of him.”
At that slight intonation, I feel the blood in my veins go ice cold. Guillot’s reply when it comes, is barely heard over the rushing in my head.
“He shall perform for you quite well, Madam,” the secret peddler says, no small amount of amusement in his tone. “I’ve even procured some herbs that will ensure he remains … ready for your attentions.”
Vomit threatens to spew from my lips. I barely even register the sound of Regis’ low groan before I’m already on the move. I slam my booted foot into the door, and it splinters at the seams. A second kick sends the damn thing inward. My dagger flies across the room, embedding itself into the man at the Madam’s back a split second before I duck and jerk out a leg to knock one of the two servants Guillot brought to the ground. The man collapses with a pained cry and the second one doesn’t even bother to fight me. Instead, he goes to the ground next to his friend and cowers with both hands over his head.
Guillot splutters, stumbling back into the wall and reaching for the dagger I’d spotted strapped to his waist as he’d walked through the tunnels. I’m on top of him before the fucker can even get it fully freed from its sheath. Ripping it from his hand, I use the blade to stab his hand down into the dirt at my feet before whirling on Madam Rose.
The scream of Guillot as he struggles to free his bloodied hand from the ground is dull to my ears as I freeze. Madam Rose isn’t running as I expected. No. The woman blinks back at me, eyes with pupils blown so wide and dark that they nearly swallow the thin ring of copper that I guess is her natural eye color. This close, the powder on her face becomes more evident.
Her lips part as she gapes at me. “By the Gods…” Her hand rises to her chest. “It’s not ? —”
I don’t let her finish whatever she’s about to say. Rearing back, I channel all of my disgust into my fist and punch her. Her nose breaks under the contact, blood spurting free as she goes down to the ground.
“You disgust me,” I growl, reaching for my second blade. This one isn’t meant to kill mortals, but I don’t give a fuck. Ophelia can beat me all she likes when I return. I won’t leave this place without ensuring that this woman—this rapist—dies at my hands.
Madam Rose holds up a shaking hand, not even seeming to notice the ruby red blood that dribbles down over her lips and chin to stain the indigo of her gown. “Y-you…” Her breath comes in harsh pants and her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
“Don’t fucking try begging,” I warn her. “Those who take what is not freely given will see no mercy from me.”
The brimstone dagger falls in the next second. The blade pierces the woman’s chest, straight down to the plain black handle. Red bubbles up around it as I pull it free and she chokes, eyes going glassy with the first hint of death as it descends.
I take a step back, my chest pumping up and down in a combination of effort and rage. A cough and a moan capture my attention and then a hand locks around my ankle. Jerking back, I kick out and Guillot goes flying into a bleary-eyed Regis as he tries to sit up.
I’m on the merchant in the next second, ripping the blade he’d pulled free from his hand and using it to slit his throat. Blood sprays over the side of Regis’ face and he gapes at me, blinking as he attempts to work through the fog he’s no doubt experiencing from the drugs.
“What the ? —”
“We have to go,” I say, cutting Regis off as I roll the fat merchant to the side to get off him.
A glance over my shoulder reveals that Guillot’s two servants are missing—no doubt having run at the first opportunity. Madam Rose’s bodyguard lies dead with a dagger in his eye a few feet away.
“Get up,” I snap out the command as I stand and move over to the dead man. I pull my dagger free, wipe it, and sheathe it along with the others.
Regis curses as he places a hand on the side of the stone hut and staggers to his feet. Shoving my shoulders beneath one of his arms, I hoist him against my side. He hisses in pain, his already bruised face a molten shade of purple and black. No doubt there are more beneath his clothes.
“Suck it up,” I order. “We need to get out of here before anyone else comes to check out the noise.”
“Why the fuck are you the one rescuing me?” Regis grumbles.
“Because Ophelia ordered it,” I snap. When he leans against me as we shuffle towards the open doorway, I know he’s not quite recovered. There’s no other way he’d allow himself to rely on someone like me.
I bite down on my lip and glance back at the gray faced, glassy-eyed woman on the dirt floor. Frowning, I notice the black veins that have stroked up the sides of her neck and face, visible even through the makeup. I glance away and move forward.
“Is this the Hollow City?” Regis asks, his voice full of grit, confusion, and also a little bit of shocked awe as he glances up at the light-filled cavern we’re in.
“Yes.” I nudge him forward. It isn’t until Regis and I make it to the staircase leading up to the tunnels—the path having taken twice as long as the first time as we pause to hide from passersby—that I decide to tell him some of what I uncovered.
He takes one step onto the bottom of the stairs, reaching for the iron railing and hefting himself to the next. I follow a step or two behind, ensuring he doesn’t fall even as I continue to survey our surroundings.
“Regis…” My voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, but he hears it.
Glancing over his shoulder, Regis arches a brow at me. “What?”
I take a breath. “When we get back to the Underworld, you should … see one of the medics.”
He rolls his eyes and takes another two steps before he replies. “I’m bruised, not broken.”
I grit my teeth, not wanting to say the next words that come out of my mouth. “The merchant that took you was planning to sell you to that woman,” I tell him.
Regis pauses on the next landing of the stairs. “He … was going to sell me?”
When he looks back, I nod. Regis turns ahead and after a moment, he starts walking again. This time, his movements are far more stiff and uneven as if they’re suddenly extra painful.
“He didn’t…” Regis states. It’s not a question, but I answer it as if it were.
“No.”
We climb the final steps and stop at the entrance to the tunnel.
“Nothing happened to me while I was unconscious.” Another non-question. “Drugged,” he mutters. “I had to have been drugged.” I can practically hear the thoughts circling in his head as the hands at his sides clench and unclench into fists. He sways where he stands.
“Regis…” His shoulders hunch inward away from me at the call of his name. Unable to help myself, I reach out and touch his back. He flinches and my hand drops away.
“Yes, you were drugged and I don’t think anything happened while you were unconscious,” I say. “But … if it’d been me, I’d want to know for sure.”
Ocean blue eyes look back at me, darker than I’ve ever seen them and full of phantoms I’ve seen too many times in the last seven years. I never expected to see them in his.
“You came for me because Ophelia sent you.”
I nod.
“Did she tell you to kill for me?”
I blink. “What?”
He turns to face me. “Did Ophelia tell you to kill for me?” he repeats the question.
“Regis, I ? —”
“I’ll keep this secret,” he says, cutting me off. “Just this once.” He holds up a finger. “We’re not … friends.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I’m used to from Regis—anger, annoyance, distrust. I roll my shoulders back. “I don’t have to be your friend to know what’s right and wrong, Regis,” I tell him. “I would’ve killed anyone who attempted to commit rape. It had nothing to do with you.”
Regis snorts a strained laugh and shakes his head, dropping his hand and finger. “Right.” He nods and then, absently, he repeats himself, “…right…”
“Come on.” I gesture toward the tunnel opening. “Let’s get out of here and back to the guild.”
It isn’t until the two of us are through the secret passageway and take that final step from out of the hot interior of the mountain tunnels that he speaks again. A wash of cool night air slides over my skin, the drying sweat on the side of my neck making me feel sticky with grime.
I move towards the forest, stopping only when I feel a hand close over my shoulder. Frowning, I look back to Regis who stands, half in the tunnel and half out. His body is illuminated by the moonlight shining down, but his face remains in the shadows.
“Regis?” I turn back. “Are you okay? Do you need to rest?”
He shifts and lowers his arm. “No.” The word is a croak. “No, I just wanted to…” His chest rises and falls with a jerky breath. “I know we’ve never—I mean…” A minute passes and then two. The soft noises of bugs buzzing and small animals rustling the underbrush soothe my nerve endings. Still, I wait. Then… “I once told you that I’d never come to your aid,” Regis murmurs. “That I wouldn’t help you even if Ophelia ordered it. I … I didn’t mean that. I said it in anger. I said it because you’re ? —”
“I know, Regis,” I say, stopping him from saying the reason for his animosity. There’s no need when we’re both well aware of it.
“I’m sorry.” The apology comes unexpectedly. “And thank you … for coming for me. For killing for me.”
And because I don’t know what else to say to a man who’s hated me for the last seven years, a man that I’ve trained with, sparred with, beaten, and been beaten by, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I punch him.
“What the fuck!” Regis stumbles under the blow. “I was fucking apologizing. Why did you punch me?” He comes out of the shadows, rubbing his jaw and glaring as he does.
I shrug. “Just making sure you were real and not a mirage,” I answer lightly, pivoting back toward the path. “Now, hurry your ass up or I’ll leave you in my dust like I always do.”
“Gods, you’re annoying,” Regis mutters.
My steps are lighter. “Yeah, but now that you’ve apologized, this means we’re friends so you’ll just have to put up with it.”
“Fuck no, we’re not friends!” His objection echoes into the night.
I snort. “Oh, we’re definitely friends,” I say. “You’re the only one I know who will stab me in the chest rather than my back.”
“What?”
Glancing back at his befuddled expression, I laugh at his creased brows and twisted lips. “A true friend will make sure you know who’s betraying you,” I tell him before turning back to the path before us. “They’ll stab you in the chest rather than the back.”
Regis grumbles about throwing me off a cliff, but I hear the telltale sound of his footsteps following after me a moment later. The smile that comes to my lips can’t be contained. Turning my face to the night sky and glittering gems of the sea of stars overhead, I release a slow breath.
Maybe we don’t need to be rivals. Maybe we really can be friends. Though I’d never admit it to him now, I’ve always hoped for as much. My first real friend. Not my father. Not just a comrade, but an honest-to-Gods friend.
Even killers need someone to pull them back from the edge of darkness now and then. If Regis can be that for me, then I’ll always come for him.