Chapter 44
The screams had become a common occurrence, reverberating down the narrow streets of Bedwyck. The horror of it all had faded to a dull numbness, though Felix wasn’t sure when the change had happened. When he’d become indifferent to all the death.
He pushed forward down the dark street, ignoring a cry for help, unfazed by the sudden snap of bones as the pleas fell silent. It probably wasn’t a wielder, anyway. The ones left were smart enough to stay hidden. He actually hadn’t seen another wielder in weeks.
When he and Marlow first arrived in Bedwyck, they’d found a room to rent in a run-down tenement in the Blackreach District. Soon after, their faces were plastered on wanted signs across the city. It wasn’t surprising after everything that had happened back home.
Those first months were a blur, and when Felix thought back to them, all he could recall was the grief and the low burning anger. August’s face was always there, at the back of his mind. The constant kindling that kept it smoldering.
When the elixir made it to Bedwyck, tearing through its population, Felix dragged himself out of his dark pit of despair and chose instead to act.
He tracked down Ashcroft’s businesses, one by one.
Destroyed every elixir he could find. It gave him somewhere to focus his anger until he found the aesling.
Took his mind off the fact that they were stuck in this place.
He hated hiding, and he hated this damned city even more.
But he knew it wouldn’t stop the elixir’s plague from spreading. As long as Ashcroft was still out there pulling the strings, and the crown was throwing money in his direction, there would always be more.
Felix glanced up at the streetlamp, its amber glow barely piercing the thick, damp fog.
They’d stopped glowing pink weeks ago, with no wielders willing to risk their lives for that job.
He, of course, understood, but he still missed the pink.
It felt like yet another loss. A sign of something ending.
Marlow had taken a job as a healer at a small clinic, but it had shut the doors last month. Every business in Bedwyck seemed to be closing. The silver lining was that their landlord stopped coming by to collect the rent.
People were fleeing to safer places, and Felix had to admit he was envious. Nine months was far too long to be away from his city. But there was an anonymity in Bedwyck that he wouldn’t find elsewhere.
As he passed a wall lined with posters, he tore down one bearing his face without slowing his steps. He didn’t need to look to know what it said. He not only had it memorized, he had one hanging proudly in their flat.
Felix Connolly. Dangerous wielder insurrectionist, wanted for the murders of Heir Aesling Augustus Ellingwood and Second Aesling Charlotte Ellingwood, for high treason, and for the use of prohibited magic.
A reward of 100,000 caern will be granted to any person who delivers this villain to the hands of justice, dead or alive.
He quite liked the “villain” bit. Even if it was a bit dramatic.
And most of it was the truth, or at least close to it.
He hadn’t directly killed Lottie, but his actions had caused her death.
Treason was fair. Dangerous? Obviously. The only glaring inaccuracy was that, despite his best efforts, he was unequivocally sure the heir aesling wasn’t actually dead.
He’d seen what the Hollow Dark had done, the way it healed the gash in August’s hand in a matter of seconds. It would’ve done the same with a gunshot wound.
August was alive.
Marlow didn’t believe him. Said he was off his rocker. But Felix knew what he’d seen. He knew he was right.
He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his frock coat, his finger tracing the frigid metal of the strange locket he’d taken that night.
The thought of August still out there somewhere was vexing.
But Felix would resolve that, if he could only figure out where he was hiding.
He clearly hadn’t gone back to his mother. The aesran still thought he was dead.
Fog hid the river below as Felix crossed Greyrock Bridge, but the gurgling of the water was loud in the silence. He continued down the narrow street, unable to see more than half a block in any direction.
The Greyrock District was compact, made up of towering, run-down tenements and illegal businesses. It was dangerous even before the elixir made it here. And it was where most of Ashcroft’s businesses were located.
Now he had a lead on another. It was good timing. He desperately needed a distraction tonight. He had to get the aesling out of his head. Needed to stop obsessing about the fact that August turned seventeen today when he was supposed to be dead.
Felix wrapped the locket in a fist, the unnatural cold burning his skin.
Another scream shattered the silence, this one uncomfortably close. He spun around, scanning the small patch of street he could see before the fog swallowed it up.
Nothing.
When he turned again, a beefy man blocked his path, a mask covering everything but his shadow of a beard and thin, cracked lips.
Before Felix could react, the man clamped a hand on his shoulder and buried a dagger deep in his stomach. He gasped, instinctively calling on his magic, but the pain spread sparks across his vision. He couldn’t focus.
The grip tightened as Felix struggled to pull away. The dagger twisted. A groan tore from his throat, and the world tilted violently.
“Ashcroft sends his regards,” the man said, stale tobacco smoke on his breath.
Felix’s vision darkened at the edges.
Not dying today.
Blinking hard, he pulled his own dagger from his cross-holster and jammed it through the man’s neck. When the grip on his shoulder loosened, Felix yanked his dagger free and shoved the man aside. His body hit the ground with a dull thud.
But the man’s blade was still buried deep in Felix’s stomach.
He spat a mouthful of blood onto the street.
Solach. Not good.
A new figure stepped out of the fog; another of Ashcroft’s, by the looks of him.
His shiny bald head gleamed under the dim light, and ruined skin sloughed off his face in slabs, peeling away from muscle.
Ashcroft liked to keep his goons hopped up on the elixir, despite the side effects.
The pros outweighed the cons, apparently.
The man drew a gun, and this time, when Felix called on his power, it rushed up to meet him. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, and when he ordered the man to stop, he obeyed.
“Answer me honestly,” Felix said, and with the command set in place, he asked, “Are there more of you here?”
The man shook his head, eyes glazed. “No. Not here.”
A fresh jolt of pain stole Felix’s breath, and he fought hard to maintain his concentration, grasping at the threads of his power.
“Where’s Ashcroft?”
“I don’t know,” the man answered. “Don’t deal with him directly.”
It couldn’t be a lie. Not while under compulsion. And it was the same answer Felix had gotten every time. None of the thugs he killed ever seemed to know where their boss was.
He spat more blood onto the ground. “That’s just grand.”
As he tried to think of something else to ask, his leg wobbled, threatening to give out. He couldn’t keep hold of the man much longer.
“Do me a favor now and put that gun in your mouth.”
The man obeyed, blank eyes staring at Felix, waiting eagerly for the next order.
“Pull the trigger.”
The gunshot pierced the silence, echoing all around him.
Felix’s own dagger fell from his grip, clanging loudly against the cobblestones. He wrapped his fingers around the one buried inside him and winced. Even the slightest movement was agony.
“Wouldn’t do that,” a voice came from behind him.
He whirled and drew his pistol.
Another man, arms crossed, clearly unbothered by the gun trained on his chest. “Remove the knife, and you’ll bleed out in seconds.”
Felix glowered, but his hand fell away from the dagger. Without Marlow around, he couldn’t risk it.
“Name’s Gideon,” the man said. He was older, with tied-back chestnut hair and a trimmed beard. His faded red jacket hugged his broad shoulders.
“You saw what I can do, yeah?” Felix asked.
The man’s eyes jumped to the body. “I did.”
“Don’t think I’ll do the same to you?”
Gideon shrugged. “I don’t. ‘Cause we want the same thing.”
Felix gritted his teeth, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he fought to mask the pain. “Do we, now? And what’s that?”
“First, let Theo fix you up. Not wasting my breath if you’re just gonna keel over on me.” Gideon gave a sharp whistle, and a boy appeared, no older than fourteen.
“A healer?” Felix asked.
“He is.”
Was the man a wielder, too? It was too dark to see his eyes.
“Put that damned gun away, will ya.”
With a sharp sigh, Felix holstered the gun.
The boy stepped cautiously forward, bending to examine the wound. He was motionless for a long moment. Then, without warning, he tugged the dagger free.
“Fucking hells!” Felix cried. Pain roared in his ears, and he blinked against the sudden darkness as the boy pressed his hands over the oozing gash. Little by little, the pain receded, softening from a hot iron to a warm ember.
And then, finally, he could breathe again. Unfortunately, his shirt was ruined. Shame.
“Now,” Felix said when the boy was finished. “What exactly is this goal we share?”
A slow smile slid across Gideon’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Justice,” the man said. “And the heads of the tyrants running this place served up on a silver fucking platter.”