Chapter 13 Rorin #3
I shrug, “answer the question.”
“I run an establishment. No black market shit comes through my men.” The man’s face grows red, his breath becoming short and puffy as he grips the edge of his desk.
I turn my head, looking around his so-called office.
“Yes, it all looks very ethical…” I drone.
“Then I guess we’ve come here in vain.” Sliding the dagger back up into my sleeve, I spin on my heel, motioning for Bennett and Max to leave.
We make it as far as the doorway before the man’s gravelly voice stops us.
“You know, you’re not the first to come in here asking for something like that.” My head turns to the side, peering at him from my peripheral vision, his smug face waiting. “Yeah. Not too long ago, an unnerved man came in here demanding I sell him some.”
There it is. “What did the man look like?” I ask slowly, trying not to give too much away.
The lord hums as he recalls the description, and I wait with bated breath, “tall like you – but long, greasy blonde hair. Pale too, real pale. Don’t see many like him wandering around these parts.”
Ezra. Drugging her… gods know what else he’s done.
“But, I didn’t sell him any, because–”
“Because no black market shit comes through here.” I finish for him, my fist clenching in and out. The pressure I keep is the only thing controlling my reaction and the Wield that will most assuredly come out with it.
Twisting my head forward, the three of us storm out of the office, and once we were outside, I felt less inclined to rein in my reaction.
“I fucking knew it.” A dry and humorless laugh escapes me, “ha. I fucking KNEW IT!” I shout.
“Rorin.”
I raise my hand to both of them, needing a moment to process one of my fears coming true. “He’s fucking killing her,” I whisper.
Bennett’s hand clasps my shoulder, his deep brown eyes looking down at me sadly. “We’re going to get her back.” He reassures me.
Ha. “Whatever’s left.”
Dawn came quickly, and with it all of my resolve had vanished.
Her council was right – I am out of time.
Max convinced Millie they needed to stay after last night’s endeavors, telling her something along the lines of, “I can’t leave these idiots in charge of bringing my queen home.”
Will offered to stay back with her again this morning, while the three of us took to the streets again.
If possible, they were even more claustrophobic than they’ve been since our arrival.
We take turns speaking to the stand owners, asking each one if they’ve seen a tall, pale-skinned, and blonde-haired man lurking around.
Most couldn’t offer us any information, and a few others fed us lies to get them away from their table faster. On what felt like our hundredth stand, the merchant bites down on his lip and chucks his chin in the direction of a busy alehouse.
Off in the shadows sits a couple, the man’s fingers drumming along the table, while they speak in hushed tones to each other. Even from this distance, I can see his eyes shifting around nervously, and I give the merchant a dip of my chin in thanks.
My magic writhes uncomfortably underneath my skin as I cross the market, the two of them zoned too deeply in their conversation that they don’t notice me pulling a chair out to sit with them.
“Uh-uhm, can we help you?” The man asks timidly, his voice shaking with each word.
“You have something I want.” He tucks his chin down tensely. “Where are they?” I say slowly, my nails curling into my palms.
The woman next to him is frozen, her mouth parted slightly as she watches my fist flex on top of the table. “I’m not sure who you m-mean?” He stutters.
“Blonde hair, skin as white as parchment, and the stench of desperation. He would’ve had a woman with him.” His jaw drops slightly, and I know I have his attention now. “Your silence tells me that you do. So here’s how this is going to work: you’re going to take me straight to them.”
His face twists, his head rearing back a bit at the request. “Look, I don’t know who you…”
“I’m the man who holds your life in his palm. Tell. Me. Where. She. Is.”
“Fine.” He says curtly, pushing up from the table. As soon as he’s out of his seat, I see the decision to bolt cross through his expression.
“Fuck.” I mutter, my hand snapping out to grab hold of his collar before he can bolt. He lurches backwards, and I spin him around until my hand is fitted well around his throat. “That was a mistake,” I whisper into his ear.
A few gasps echo from the crowd as I drag him out into the street.
He tries to wrench himself free of my hold, but his efforts fail, leaving him at my mercy as I trip him at the ankle.
The kick lands him flat on his back, gasping for air, when I press a boot to his chest. “Remember how just moments ago, I mentioned that I hold your life in my hands?” I reach down and grab him again by the neck, raising him off his toes.
He looks at me wide-eyed, the fear practically oozing off of him.
“You’ve been supplying him with the tonics; you know where to find him. So, I’ll ask again. Where are they?”
“Why should I tell you?” He grits out boldly.
A wicked grin spreads across my lips, and I cock my head to the side, “tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Wrong answer.”
CRAAAACKK!
I don’t hear the screams of patrons or of the woman accompanying him, over the roaring in my ears. Only the feeling of his neck snapping against my hands and the weight of his head lolling to the side confirms to me what I’ve done.
He’s become much lighter now that he’s not fighting against me, and I chuck him off to the side, his body thudding in a heap at his companion’s knees.
Commotion rises around me, and from the corner of my eye, I see both Bennett and Max rushing towards me, their attention going straight to the dead man.
Max is the first to flick his stare to me, and then his face grows pale. I turn around to see what’s got him as white as a sheet when–
“Oh gods.”
The voice, syrupy as honey, hits my ears and tears right through my chest. I don’t dare blink, her name a prayer on my lips.
“Nightmare.”