Chapter Forty-One Inana
Chapter Forty-One
Inana
I rise to my feet in a rush, but with my back to the wall, there’s nowhere to go.
All I can do is stare as Henderson stops just inside the cell.
I hoped he and his crew had died while trying to flee the Shades after the bridge collapse, and I thought I’d gotten my wish when we heard no news of his arrival in Eldeen.
Surely if he’d survived he would have tried to get there first, to make things as difficult for us as he could.
But I was wrong.
Because here he stands with his favorite Summoner at his side and two men dressed in white robes and silver gauntlets, their faces veiled.
My gaze falls to the swords at the strangers’ hips.
I’ve never seen men like these before, but between their veils, their robes, and the gold crests on their lapels of a sun with seven sunbeams—King Kaelum’s royal insignia—these must be holy men. Armed priests from the church.
I haven’t set foot inside a church since I was a girl, and that was only for weekly liturgy. Dunway’s chapel only had a pastor and a handful of acolytes. There were no guards. No holy soldiers.
They must be here for me.
This was a fucking trap.
“Did you leave the note?” I ask, my eyes darting back to Henderson. On my periphery, I study the windows, all of which remain barred. Why couldn’t this cell be one of the ones that had its windows clawed open?
“I did,” the female Summoner says.
I assess her, finding no sign of the wound Dominic inflicted upon her. Maybe he didn’t shoot her in a fatal spot. Or maybe Henderson healed her with his blood. Whatever the case, I am not at all pleased to see her smug face. “Did you arrange for Tera Holmes to guilt me as well?”
“I informed her an old friend was alive and in town,” she says. “I expected her to seek you out before the end of your post, and you found each other.”
“Abigail insisted you would do the right thing if prompted,” Henderson says, his tone edged with impatience. “She said you were the sensible one, yet instead of heading straight to the church like Abigail predicted, you came here. Why?”
I scoff. “You really thought I was going to turn myself in? If that’s the case, how the hell did you find me here?”
Henderson’s expression darkens, but Abigail steps forward, tone placating.
“We arrived in Eldeen well before you did, so we were already keeping watch on your party, ready for you to make your move after speaking with Miss Holmes. Besides, you left a trail for us, didn’t you? You wanted to be found.”
I bristle at her words. Partly because she’s fucking right. I made no secret of where I was going or what I was doing, blatantly flaunting my identity as a Summoner to the stablemaster. But it was so Dominic would know where I went, not these assholes. Gods, why didn’t I realize this was a trap?
Abigail speaks again in her annoyingly calm voice, like I’m some feral animal she’s trying to save.
“You came here to atone, didn’t you? I could tell you were surprised when Henderson mentioned Dunway on the bridge.
You were confused. You must not have known the consequences of your actions.
Or perhaps it was only an accident. Whatever the case, you can repent. ”
I press my back closer to the wall. “By turning myself over to the fucking crown?”
“It doesn’t have to be the crown,” Henderson says. He gestures toward the veiled men flanking them. “If you are truly repentant, you can throw yourself on the mercy of the church.”
I huff a cold laugh. Of course it doesn’t matter to him who takes custody of me, so long as he gets my bounty and recognition for his good deeds as a Shadowbane.
It makes me wonder how godsdamned high my bounty is to make him go to such lengths.
Maybe he saw me as the easier target compared to Bard, but we both must be worth a lot to fuel his obsession.
“There is hope for you,” Abigail says. “If you seek the church’s forgiveness, just like I once did, you too can become a Holy Summoner—”
“I’m already a Summoner,” I bite out.
“You’re nothing but an outlaw,” Henderson says.
“You may have amnesty while you’re in service to a Shadowbane, but I don’t see Dominic Graves anywhere, do you?
Who’s to say he hasn’t cut you loose already?
I certainly can’t take your word for it, and the priests are my witnesses.
They too can only assume you are a lone outlaw and nothing more. ”
My pulse quickens at what he’s suggesting. He can skirt around the rules. So long as he can say he thought I was no longer employed by a fellow Shadowbane, he can arrest me.
“Choose wisely,” he says. “This can only end in your arrest, so decide whether you prefer the church’s forgiveness or the crown’s justice.”
I glance from him to Abigail, then to the armed priests. They’re blocking the doorway, my only means of escape. I step to the side, and my foot lands on something hard beneath the straw. A brief glance reveals a glint of metal, mostly buried. What could it…
A spark of hope blossoms inside me. I shift my foot again, assessing the shape just to be sure.
But it must be what I think it is.
The knife Henry dropped after he stabbed me. After the Shade pulled out his heart.
Abigail steps closer. “To repent, you must unburden yourself of your sins. Let them go, Miss Westwood.”
I glance down at the knife again, just a brief flick of my eyes.
“Confess,” she says, voice soft and melodious as she holds her palms toward me. “Tell us everything you know about Dominic Graves.”
My blood goes cold. That’s what this is about. It isn’t just about my bounty; it’s about taking down Dominic too.
“He isn’t who you think he is,” Henderson says.
“He is not the kind of Shadowbane you want to associate with. There’s something wrong with how he operates, and I will find out what that is if it’s the last thing I do.
If you tell me what you know about him, confess before our holy witnesses, you will be forgiven. ”
“You can do this,” Abigail says. “I knew you were sensible when we first spoke in Thornfal. I knew you were just like me. You’ve sinned, but you were only trying to survive.
You sinned again because you thought all hope was lost. You thought Absolution was only a distant dream of your past. But you’re sorry now, and you can atone.
Return to the path of righteousness, and you can regain everything you’ve lost. You could even be made Sinless. ”
I purse my lips, but I can’t hide my smile. It isn’t a grin of joy but of wicked amusement. “You thought I was the sensible one? You couldn’t be more wrong about me. I’m nothing like you.”
She frowns, her sympathy replaced with shock. “I refuse to believe you’re wicked. Let me save—”
I crouch down, reach for the blade, and lunge for Abigail. Her eyes go wide as I grab her wrist and wrench it behind her back, my taller height an immediate advantage. Then I face her forward and press the knife—still stained with my dried blood from two years ago—to her throat. “Let me pass.”
The priests’ swords are already raised, and Henderson slowly unsheathes his. His expression is calm. Amused, even.
I press the knife’s edge more firmly against Abigail’s throat, and she cries out. “I mean it,” I say. “I will slit her fucking throat if you don’t let me pass.”
“Do it,” Henderson says, taking a slow step closer.
He doesn’t bother shifting into a fighting stance.
His lack of fear is unnerving. “I can heal her. I can stab straight through her just to get to you. Meanwhile the priests can hack off your arms. My blood can heal your wounds just enough to keep you alive. Not that I need to. It’s only that your bounty is worth more with your heart still beating. ”
The organ in question riots in response. This isn’t going how I wanted.
“Slit her throat or drop the knife,” he says. “This is the last choice I’m giving you.”
My knife hand trembles. All it would take is one swipe of the blade, and I could spill Abigail’s blood.
Seize my chance. See if Henderson is bluffing about stabbing through her to get to me.
Dominic said she’s Henderson’s favorite Summoner.
Maybe they’re more than just a professional partnership. Maybe they’re like…
Like me and Dominic.
That thought has my hand shaking harder.
As much as I despise these people, I can’t bring myself to cut this woman’s throat.
Abigail is a pious, ignorant fool. Her reverence is for lies, but she doesn’t know that.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to look too hard lest she discover the darkness creeping beneath everything she stands for.
Either way, I can’t kill her. I’ve never killed anyone—
The memory of Henry’s heart in the Shade’s hand flashes through my mind.
I hesitate too long.
The priests lunge forward and wrench my arms, forcing me to release the Summoner. One pulls my wrist behind my back, just like I did to Abigail, while the other attempts to wrest the knife from my fingers. I bare my teeth and tighten my grip, focusing all my rage on the veiled priest.
Hatred burns in my heart, a sickening, nauseating, beautiful fury.
It simmers in my blood.
Rises to the surface of my skin.
Radiates down my arms to my fingertips.
I cry out as the priest finally loosens my grip, but as the knife falls to the ground, darkness fills the space in its absence, a tiny wisp of shadow that grows against my palm.
There is no lantern light to brighten the cell.
Not this time.
A Shade coalesces in my hand, taking form as a flying squirrel. The priest gasps, but before he can react, the Shade leaps from my hand to his shoulder, then beneath his veil. The priest makes a choking sound and begins to convulse, slowly at first, but then harder. Harder.
His body goes still just as blotches of red splash against the other side of his veil, painting it in blood.
The squirrel flies out from beneath the veil, lifting it, and I catch sight of the man’s bleeding eye sockets, nostrils, and mouth, spread wide in horror. As the Shade reaches my hand, it disappears.
Into my skin.
A tingle forms against my other hand, the one behind my back. The first priest barely hits the floor before the second spasms behind me. Another grunt, and this time something warm and wet strikes the back of my head.
The second priest falls.
Henderson cradles Abigail against his chest, his eyes wide as he takes in the dead men, my shadow-wreathed hands.
I can’t help but follow his line of sight to my palms, shocked by what just happened.
What I just did.
Because…that was me.
That was the result of my rage. My will.
“What the hell are you?” Henderson’s voice quavers, and now he has the good sense to raise his sword in earnest.
“Let me pass,” I say through my teeth.
“You’re…” His expression twists with disgust, and he lowers his mouth to Abigail’s throat.
She cries out as he sinks his teeth in, and I take advantage of his momentary preoccupation to run past him.
My feet fly beneath me, as fast as my racing pulse.
I charge out of the jail, down the street, my mind whirling to comprehend the chaos in my head, my heart, my… my fucking body.
I don’t get far before pain strikes my lower back.
My legs give out, and I tumble to the ground.
I roll onto my side, twisting one arm behind me to wrench the blade out.
It’s the same knife I threatened Abigail with.
The same Henry stabbed me with. My hand shakes too hard to keep hold of it, and it slides from my grip.
I scramble back as Henderson closes in, his sword blazing with astrotheurgical light.
Abigail follows just behind, her legs unsteady, her palm pressed to her puncture wounds. Her expression burns with scorn as her eyes lock on mine.
Too soon, Henderson stops before me, the tip of his sword mere inches away. I freeze. Everything inside me blares with warning. Deadly. Deadly. Deadly.
So why doesn’t he cleave his weapon through my neck?
“There’s never been one like you,” he says, voice trembling with terror and awe. “You…you’re worth more than I thought.”
Abigail reaches us and gathers the knife off the ground before leaping a few steps back. She brandishes the blade. “We have to kill her. There’s no hope for her now.”
“No,” Henderson says, eyes alight with fire and greed. “This is something the church will want to study. Carve apart. See what it’s capable of.”
Abigail looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “We can’t—”
“Carve a diagram,” he says in a rush. “We’ll trap it in light and surround it in silver. We have silver bricks in the wagon. We’ll line the perimeter of the diagram with that. Then we’ll send for the church.”
Trap it…
Trap me…
In light and silver?
There’s no doubt now what they think I am.
What I think I am.
Abigail reluctantly obeys, crouching on the ground and tracing lines on the dirt road. I’d be surprised Henderson taught his Summoner an astrotheurgical diagram if I wasn’t so focused on what he said.
He thinks he can trap me in silver and light?
Me?
He’s probably right about what I am, but he’s wrong about his plan.
It won’t work. Twice I’ve proceeded through the silver gates of Nalheim.
I lived within its perimeter for an entire year.
Almost every week I was surrounded by the silver walls of the Wretched Lair, blindingly bright from the glow of the chandeliers.
Bright enough to give me a headache.
But nothing worse.
Henderson frowns down at me as a bark of laughter escapes my lips.
With sunlight overhead, he can’t see the darkness that tingles against my palms, but I can feel it.
It tingles all around me, through me, surging out in every direction and begging to be free.
It cowers at the sight of the flaming sword, knowing how quickly it could kill me, but it awaits my command just the same.
Waits for me to give it permission to illustrate my wrath in whatever deadly shape I desire.
My gaze shifts from Henderson to Abigail, and cold resolve fills my blood.
Inana Westwood has never killed anyone.
But I have.
I blow out a breath and free my wrath, and every dark emotion it’s tangled with.
Shadows leap from my palms, my legs, my heart.
One spears Henderson through the chest while the other pierces Abigail’s throat.
They both go still, but my shadows don’t.
They continue to slash and rage, spraying me, the ground, and the air with blood.
I don’t know how long it lasts. All I know is when it’s over, I’m bathed in scarlet.
My shadows dance around me, humming with voices I’m in no state to hear, caressing my shoulders in soothing motions.
I pull myself up, sitting back on my heels, and stare down at my hands.
Hands that aren’t mine.
Hands that aren’t fucking mine.
And I scream.