Chapter Thirty-Five
ELYSSARA
My boots hit the cobbles of the Barrier District.
I land in a crouch as Mavyrn’s split in the air seals behind me.
Thalmyr’s Lightborne Barrier rises before me in a wall of glistening, golden light.
An impenetrable shield—oppressive, tyrannical.
A reminder of how it all started—with my parents’ refusal to hand me over to a life behind the gilded cage. But I can’t dwell on it.
The others await me in the cover of an abandoned alley, its walls painted in the thick, black soot that coats most of Virellin.
But I’ve prowled these streets since I was a child—made friends with its darkness, allies with its deception.
I know them better than I know myself. And here, in the darkness, there is no fear. Only opportunity.
It’s the stench that hits me first—the reek of unwashed bodies, shit and the undeniable haze of voidroot.
“Hoods up, no eye contact,” I command, and the unit does as I say. “Wait thirty heartbeats, then follow. Groups bigger than three are forbidden.”
I stay close to the walls, senses keen and perceptive, as though the memory of this place were burrowed deep in my marrow and it demands my full attention.
My boots slip along the slick grime smeared across the stones, and my ears fill with the din of coins, whores and clinking tankards.
Ah, home. Gods, I missed this shithole.
I don’t look back. I have to trust the others can take care of themselves. Looking back only ever gets you attention from guards, or a knife to the ribs around here. So I keep my eyes downcast, my gait even and unbothered, though I’m tense as all hells.
Nobles stumble through the filthy streets, only glancing in my direction to see if I’m offering flesh or voidroot, but when they don’t see an eyeful of skin, they move on quickly.
I duck into an alcove, pulling my cloak tight around my body. I wait, allowing the others time to catch up.
Ronyn slinks around the corner to join me, tucking into the shopfront with stealth I haven’t seen him wield since before he was caught and taken to The Tannery. The fucking Tannery.
“The bastards have changed the supply routes and patrols,” he complains in a hush, looking genuinely perturbed that he won’t be able to raid supply caches while we’re here. “I suppose life goes on when you pass through the Final Gate,” he says wistfully.
“Of course life goes on, you fucking idiot. Plus, you’re alive—the Final Gate didn’t want you. Now, check on the others,” I barb, but there’s no bite in it. Only exasperation.
Ronyn peeks his head around the corner of the alcove, counting the cloaked bodies he recognizes as ours walking through the streets of the district. “We’re one short,” he breathes.
Kael, Therion, Seren, Correk, Mavyrn and Jax file into the alcove, the squelch of mud thick underfoot.
“How in the fucking Stars did you live here for so long?” Jax’s face twists in disgust, her nose wrinkling.
“Oppressive ruler, starvation, dead parents, deathly forest keeping us in. Not much of a choice,” I deadpan, and for once, she looks almost apologetic.
“Where’s Rubi?” Therion bites, voice tight.
But that’s when I see her—
Two guards flank her.
One guard with a bald head and protruding belly, his face red from too much ale, pushes back her hood to reveal her beautiful face and unkempt hair.
“Haven’t seen you before,” his words curl in a suggestive tone, and I feel Therion’s breath tighten in response.
“I’m certain I haven’t seen you either,” Rubi flirts, biting her bottom lip. “Surely I’d remember fine men such as yourselves.”
Beside me, I notice Kael unsheathe a small dagger from his hip, the blade barely the length of my hand, but still long enough to gut a man where he stands.
The other guard, a broad man with hair a dull brown, and sunken eyes, pushes her cloak over her shoulder, his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts over her bodice. “You a whore?” he asks, blunt and entitled.
My fists clench at my sides, and my mouth twists in hatred.
No, Duskae. It’s too risky for you. Nothing will happen to her—I won’t let it.
Kael’s voice soothes down the tether, and I notice his clenched jaw, his coiled muscles ready for violence in a heartbeat.
I nod. He’s right. It’s too risky now that all of Virellin knows the Lightborne walks their streets.
Rubi giggles as if she’s flattered. “Me? A whore? Of course not, though I bet you wish I was,” she jests, batting his arm, and squeezing it with warmth.
My blade would be buried in his neck by now. She’s playing this dangerous little game expertly.
Dull Hair looks annoyed at her answer, grunting in response, and spitting on the ground. “Why is a woman of such fine repute out at such an hour, then?” He presses closer to her, closing the distance.
But Rubi doesn’t baulk. She plots.
“I’m testing out a new product,” she answers smoothly, not breaking his gaze.
Bald Head seems interested in that. “Which is?”
Her plan locks into place. “I’m a distiller.
” She reaches into the pockets of her skirts, pulling out her flask.
“I’ve distilled a wonderful product. It’s called brask.
Customers complained of a slightly acidic note in earlier distillations, so I’ve refined my product.
Tonight, I’m testing it on the brave protectors of Dravara,” she flatters, looking up from under her curtain of lashes.
“Give it ‘ere,” Dull Hair grunts skeptically, and she passes over the flask.
He takes a long pull on it, swishing the brask in and out of his cheeks.
Before he’s even swallowed, he passes it to Bald Head who throws the flask back, taking a quick nip of the liquor. He swallows loudly, and begins to nod. “Certainly a distinct and unique taste,” he comments, clearing his throat at the fiery trail brask leaves in its wake.
“Very unique. That’s what makes my product so highly sought after,” she adds, selling the lie.
Bald Head nods, looking convinced. “Star blessings on the new business venture, miss,” he says, bidding her farewell. He takes a couple of steps, but something gives him pause. His eyes flare a dim shade of red and I know what he’s doing. He’s a fucking Bloodbond and he’s sensing magic.
He hasn’t sensed us yet.
But he will.
In less than a heartbeat.
Dull Hair moves to walk with his friend, and I see Rubi exhale in relief, but I notice the way her fingers tremble, barely keeping her performance in play. But he whips back. “Got a licence for that product?”
Fuck.
Kael and Therion are already moving.
Their broad frames move through the darkness like they’re made of it.
Daggers drawn, muscles coiled tight, violence in their eyes.
They don’t walk. They prowl like men made monsters. Stalking, taunting.
They scoop wide around the guards, moving to approach from behind to avoid a fight.
We need a clean, swift kill and they know it.
“A licence?” Rubi asks innocently. “Yes. If you’ll just give me a moment to retrieve it for you…” she trails off, rummaging through her satchel.
That’s when Kael and Therion make their move.
Kael’s dagger slides cleanly between Dull Hair’s ribs. It punches through flesh with a muffled thud, his breath dying in a single sharp wheeze before a scream could even form on his lips.
Therion’s dagger sinks into Bald Head’s neck, slicing clean through the main artery. Bald Head folds to the slick floor with a wet crack, a gurgled rasp escaping him.
“Could’ve just charred them,” Ronyn says from behind me, and I give him an incredulous glare. This dragon thing has gone to his head.
Kael drags his victim to the side of the street in less than a heartbeat, and Therion follows suit. Clean, effective, quiet.
“Teddy!” Rubi breathes, wrapping her arms around Therion’s neck in relief, and perhaps some shock.
Even monsters soften for the ones we love.
He carries her to the alcove without spectacle, and we crowd into the space.
I want to stop to ask if she’s okay, but we don’t have time.
“We’ve just killed two royal guards—it won’t remain a secret for long, and it won’t go unpunished. The district will get locked down. We need to keep moving. Ready?” I ask, but I don’t wait for the answer.
I rap my knuckles against the heavy, wooden door. Three sharp knocks in quick succession, followed by two booming knocks spaced three heartbeats apart.
I wait.
The door opens just a crack to reveal the same harsh face that always greets me.
“Iskara?” he asks, trying to make out my face under my hood. I nod, pushing it back to reveal my unmistakable auburn hair and green eyes, and he exhales an aggrieved sigh. “Gellesk and his fuckin’ debts,” he groans, but the door swings open.
“Oh, and this time, I brought friends,” I say, gesturing my head behind me. He eyes my friends warily.
“Big ones,” he observes. “Come on then, he’s down here.”
So we descend into the lawless tunnels of The Underbelly.