Chapter 9 #2
“That’s enough.”
“I swear, if you say one more word…”
“I think Tal is going to melt your hair.”
Tal threw her dagger at the corner post of a leaning building.
She had met her wit’s end with Sybil’s teasing, and the stuffiness of the tunnels made her nauseous.
Carrick convinced her to join him above, and they wandered the streets chatting about nothing important.
Tal commented on how dapper Carrick looked in his footman uniform the previous night, and the brute shoved her into an alley playfully.
She stumbled a few steps but stayed upright and gripped the side of the building beside her for support.
When she turned to step back into the street, an arm came around her throat, and something sharp pressed into her rib cage.
Tal stilled, quickly taking in the details of the situation.
She had several weapons hidden on her, but she wanted to let this person think they had the upper hand.
Sometimes these louts talked more than they should.
She tensed, and her attacker took it as fear.
His hubris loosened his grip and left him vulnerable.
“One move, and I’ll puncture your lung,” the deep voice hissed, a wretched stench wafting from his mouth.
Tal had to exhale to keep her nausea at bay. She instantly recognized Duncan, Pochette’s bodyguard. He had been missing for weeks. It appeared he’d escaped the slaughter that the rest of his associates fell victim to. The man stood less than a head taller than her, but at least twice as wide.
“What do you want?” she asked calmly.
“They’re looking for you. If I bring you in, they’ll leave me alone.”
Tal rolled her eyes. “Who’s looking for me?”
“I am. But I’m not sure he knew that,” a deep, silky voice said from behind them.
Duncan jumped at the sudden appearance of another person. He pulled Tal backward into the wall and tightened his hold on her, pressing the knife further into the material of her jacket. She winced. If he punctured the leather, she would pluck the hair from his nostrils one by one.
Faron stood in shadow, his hood pulled up and two swords in hand pointing at Duncan. He tutted. “I would release her if I were you.”
“Shut it!” Duncan spat.
“You should listen to him, Duncan.” Carrick leaned against the entrance to the alley, a picture of nonchalance.
“I’m not afraid of him.” Duncan jostled Tal and he missed her hand slipping to the knife at her belt.
“No, but you should be afraid of me.” Tal jabbed her knife into the man’s stomach and twisted away from his blade. She wrenched her own knife downward until he released his hold on her neck, at which point she stepped back out of his reach.
“You continue to amaze me,” Faron said to her. His hood shielded his face, but she could imagine the embarrassingly awestruck expression there.
Tal used her heel to kick Duncan in his open wound, and he collapsed onto the cobblestones, clutching his side. “Who. Is. Looking. For. Me?” she repeated slowly.
The thug must have been living in squalor for weeks.
The beginnings of a beard covered his usually clean-shaven face, and his greasy salt-and-pepper hair stuck out at odd angles.
His blue suit was unrecognizable. Scrapes and cuts covered his exposed skin.
He breathed heavily, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers.
“Looks like you haven’t got much time,” Tal said matter-of-factly.
“They’ll find you sooner or later,” he rasped.
Tal rolled her eyes. “Are you going to share who these friends of yours are, or should I open up that side pocket a little more?” She gestured to the wound.
Duncan grimaced. “Mages,” he said with difficulty. “They wear dark cloaks with the hood pulled up.”
“Have you seen their faces?” Carrick pushed off the wall and took two steps into the alley.
Duncan nodded.
“How many?” Tal crossed her arms.
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” he repeated frantically when Tal stepped closer, her knife aimed at his wound. “There was a new one every time—always one of their creations.”
“How long did Pochette know about them?” Copper filled her nostrils and Tal flicked blood off her knife. If Duncan spoke the truth, she had no way of knowing how many mages were involved. She knew nothing about her enemy.
“Since he started at the docks, but they’ve been here longer,” Duncan replied, his voice weak. His skin paled, and blood pooled beneath him.
Tal narrowed her eyes at the new development. “Why haven’t they made their presence known until now?”
“Biding their time.” Duncan slouched against the wall, and his hand fell to the ground, unable to press against the wound. He didn’t have long.
She changed up her line of questioning. “Where did you meet them? Where can we find them?”
“Everywhere. They come to you.” His speech began to slur.
“No hideouts? No underground crypts to hold prisoners?” Faron spoke this time.
Duncan offered a sardonic smile. “If there were any, the only ones who knew about them are dead,” he said darkly, and his body slumped the rest of the way to the ground. He breathed heavily, closing his eyes against the pain in his side.
Tal swore. If she thought she could get any more information, she would have attempted to save the criminal, but he didn’t even have ten minutes.
She knelt beside his head and whispered, “You’re getting what’s coming to you, Duncan.
The families you’ve stolen from, the women you’ve kidnapped and raped, the people you’ve sent floating down the Taralin, your punishment is nigh. Save a seat at the fiery table for me.”
When he took his last breath, Tal wiped her knife on his sleeve and stood as she placed it back in its sheath.
“I take it you two knew each other.” Faron used his sword to gesture to the body.
She turned to him then, noting his height and how tightly his leather suit hugged his muscular frame. She swallowed. “He was the bodyguard of a crime lord here at the docks. We had a few run-ins over the years.”
“And this crime lord?”
“Sent to the hells.”
Faron paused for a moment. “I would ask how he met his undoing, but I have a feeling I’m looking at her.”
“Pochette reigned over the docks for decades. He stole, kidnapped, raped, murdered, you name it. His power and money kept eyes off him. He got less than he deserved.”
The hooded figure nodded in response. His reaction gave away none of his thoughts on the matter, but she felt no remorse over her part in Pochette’s demise. She only wished it had happened sooner. Life in the docks had hardened her against that sort of thing.
“I have some news,” Faron interrupted the silence. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
The three of them sat at a table in the back of a tavern near the south entrance of the tunnels.
Faron grabbed an ale for each of them plus two more and sat opposite Tal and Carrick.
His hood still concealed his face from other patrons, but Tal could see him clearly.
Carrick insisted that Tal take the inside seat, and she rolled her eyes, but chose not to argue.
She grabbed the ale from Faron and curled her hands around it, not sure she wanted any tonight.
Her fury roiled in her chest, and she had plans to release it.
Tal eyed the two pints yet unspoken for, but Faron jumped right to business. “A servant girl at the palace went missing.”
Carrick nodded. “We’re aware. She never showed up for the king’s masquerade yesterday.”
Faron cocked his head, and his lips twitched. “Maybe I should address this first. Talwyn, what is your relationship to Captain Daire?”
“None of your business,” she said.
Faron took a sip to hide his smirk. “I’m afraid your behavior last night may have ruined any chances you had of being his guest again.”
“You saw me there?”
“How could I miss you?” His teeth flashed.
“And I noticed your friends there as well. I think the king would be interested to know how all of you managed to sneak past the guards. One is concerning, but five? Someone might think that the captain of the guard is conspiring against the crown, if he gave you his personal invitation.”
Tal sighed. Daire grated her nerves, but he was a good captain and loyal to the kingdom. She didn’t want to get him in any trouble. “Daire didn’t know we were all there. His invitation to me was purely innocent, and Sybil attended as my chaperone. That’s all he knew.”
“I think it says something about the captain if he doesn’t know when someone sneaks into the palace.”
“If you’re here to make threats then we’re done,” Carrick growled as he leaned forward.
Faron waved his hand. “I’m only having some fun. But it is a safety concern for the king. I won’t get the captain in trouble, but the king should be made aware of weaknesses in his security.” He notched a brow as if challenging her to deny it.
Tal nodded slowly.
“Was your little stunt part of the plan?”
Tal peered sideways at Carrick and gritted her teeth. “I didn’t anticipate not being able to eat all day.”
Faron leaned against his chair and chuckled. “Are all women at the docks like this, or is it just you?”
Carrick’s eyes flicked between Tal and Faron. He raised his brow a fraction, his silent question of whether she wanted him to intervene. When she shrugged, he said, “Are we going to continue with the small talk, or did you have something to tell us?”
He threw a hand up. “Apologies. The women I have the unfortunate task of interacting with are not nearly as interesting as you.” He leaned forward, all eyes on Tal. “I’m intrigued.”
“And I’m tired. Can we get back to the girl?” Tal sat back in her seat and crossed her arms.