Chapter Four Inana #2
Shock ripples through me at his words. Not only is he admitting there’s a way off the continent, a prospect only spoken of in whispers by those of us with nothing left to lose, but his choice of words has my pulse hammering.
Leave the Holy Continent. Free woman. He probably used those terms deliberately to stir my hope, but I must admit, it’s working. Gods, it’s working.
Normally when people talk about what lies across the sea, they use words like exile, damned, or warmongering devils.
For regular citizens, leaving the Holy Continent would be a punishment, as this is the only land protected by the Sinless.
But for outlaws, we know we’re living on borrowed time.
Hiding under false names can only take us so far.
We can never rise beyond the bottom rungs of society without risking discovery for who we really are.
I’ve never heard of anyone surviving as an outlaw for more than ten years, and those are the luckiest ones.
Sooner or later, death catches us, by the hands of the law, the Sinless, or the Shades.
The Shadowbane speaks again. “Cross me and I’ll kill you. I have no need for your bounty, but I do require a Summoner. Take my offer or run, but if you choose the latter, know it will be your last time running from me. I will not give you this chance again.”
With that, he releases my hand, my arm, and eases what must be his knee from my back.
Every instinct screams at me to flee, but I’m still reeling from his threats and his offer of freedom.
Plus, I don’t doubt what he said; he won’t let me go again, and should I choose to run now, he’ll have me pinned down in a matter of seconds.
If I want to escape him, I’ll have to play along with his first option.
Retreat to the dressing room. Doff my robe and mask.
Leave with the other performers. Then flee the city and run until he catches me, led by that snuffling shadow monster he commands.
I blow out a heavy breath, fighting that incessant urge to dart down the hall at once. Instead, I rise unsteadily to my feet, straightening my mask to ensure my face is still covered.
The Shadowbane lifts both hands, palms forward, and steps back until several feet of space stretch between us. The light from the nearest sconce brightens half his face. His dark gaze remains locked on mine, but there’s no threat there. No cruelty. Only curt demand. “Make your choice.”
I can hardly process the mess in my mind to make a choice right now, but at least my first step has already been decided for me. The promise of a respite from the Shadowbane propels me toward the dressing room.
As Rockefeller opens the door for me, he places a hand on my shoulder. Keeping his voice low, he says, “Whatever you do, please don’t run.” I meet his eyes to find a flicker of pleading in them. Is he pleading for his own safety or mine?
The dressing room is silent as I enter, all eyes trained on me. With slow steps, I make my way to the rack of robes, which is already full of everyone else’s attire. It seems I’m the last to get changed. Wary looks follow my every step, as do half-hearted sentiments.
“Are you…”
“Did he…”
“Does he know who…”
No one can finish their questions, because no one can afford to truly care.
There’s a reason none of us are friends, only cold acquaintances.
When one of us fucks up, the rest risk being guilty by association.
I’ve been on their side of this scenario before.
Each time, I averted my gaze, held my tongue, and thanked the gods I was spared.
I’m not so lucky this time.
Or am I?
My instinct to flee remains strong, every muscle poised to obey as soon as I give the command.
But what about my second option? In exchange for six months of service as the shadow hunter’s Summoner, he’ll give me freedom. He promised. Sinless supposedly can’t lie—being Absolved of sin and all that—so does the same go for Shadowbanes?
I can’t imagine serving that asshole, not after how he pinned me to the ground and threatened me with his Shades.
Still…
If I accept his offer, I could be on a ship off this continent in six months’ time.
The mere thought has me shivering with a mix of terror and elation.
No one knows what’s out there, only that there is at least one other land that hasn’t completely fallen to lawlessness and Shades.
Our only evidence is Port Belfair, the sole port city on the Holy Continent, the sole source of outside trade.
Rumors say there you can buy passage on a homebound trade ship if you speak to the right person and offer the right price.
What happens after is a mystery. Maybe the other lands are brimming with war and sin and Shades.
Maybe my chances of survival won’t be any better there than they are here.
But I’ll take danger and mystery if it means freedom.
I’ll face war and shadow monsters if it means liberation from the Sinless.
I can ally with a dangerous man, play along with his rules, and serve him as he demands.
It doesn’t mean I have to trust him. I don’t know what exactly a Summoner does, but I am an artist, just like he said.
And what do artists do? They attract Shades.
The very monsters he hunts. If his promise proves false, I will draw every Shade to me and laugh as they pick the meat from his bones.
Even if it’s the last thing I do. Even if they devour me next.
The medley of hope and violence steadies my nerves, enough that I manage to finish changing with only the mildest of tremors.
Dressed in my common garb—an olive-green bodice and a brown skirt with a patched hem—I nod to my companions that I’m ready.
They may have surmised my time with them is at an end, but routine kept them from leaving me just yet.
We always return to the barracks as a group on performance nights. Safety in numbers until the bitter end.
The Lover raps his knuckles on the door, and Rockefeller opens it, allowing us to file from the room. My heart slams against my ribs as I trail at the back of our retinue.
I reach where the Shadowbane waits; my last chance to change my mind.
With a slow exhale, I halt in place. Shift to face the towering male while the other performers continue down the hall. Leaving me behind.
I lift my eyes to the Shadowbane’s, finding his are already roving me from head to toe, as if memorizing every stitch of my drab clothing, every freckle that dots my upper chest and face, every strand of my strawberry-blond hair spilling loose over my shoulders.
His attention sears me to the bone, an unspoken reminder that if he couldn’t hunt me down by sight before, he can now.
His dark eyes lock on mine, studying my gray irises now, and it’s all I can do not to avert my gaze, not to shrink from his scrutiny—
A subtle shift of movement steals my focus, and I glance to the side.
That’s when I notice two figures standing farther down the corridor, half hidden in shadows.
I recognize them both, the towering middle-aged man with the scarred face and the petite young woman with hard eyes.
Fellow performers, Bard and Harlot. But what are they doing here?
Only a fool would have stayed behind out of solidarity, which means…
“You weren’t hoping it would just be the two of us, were you, Seamstress?
” The Shadowbane’s tone is dry, a corner of his mouth lifting in a taunting grin.
My eyes track the angle of his lips, the way his dark lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones as his gaze burrows deeper into me.
For whatever asinine reason, my stomach flips in response.
Before I can compel my eyes away from that smirk that has my body doing traitorous things, he pushes off the wall and brushes past us. “Welcome to my crew, sinners.”