Chapter 22 #2
They reached the edge of town, or at least She assumed so.
The roads had turned from stone to dirt, and sparse plant life sprouted from the dry ground in spindly tufts.
The buildings became even more dilapidated with doors hanging off hinges and planks blocking off windows. Surely no one lived within these ruins.
Leila tugged at Enzo’s sleeve. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” he said.
Leila set Her jaw. Safe was an anomaly in these conditions, but She followed him anyway, Her life firmly resting in the Kovahrian’s hands.
They reached their destination. Enzo stopped in front of .
. . actually, Leila wasn’t sure what it was, the structure so weathered and worn She feared it may collapse.
Wooden slats charred black barely held up a rickety roof made of the same timber, and remnants of a fence encircled it, most of the posts lying flat on the ground.
It couldn’t possibly be the right place, but Enzo headed through the doorless entryway, gesturing for the others to follow.
Dust floated from the ceiling and coated Her lungs.
A few slivers of sunlight spilled through holes in the ceiling and walls, and She avoided them, content to stifle Her glow for as long as possible.
The floor was layered with dirt and hay that scraped Leila’s toes with each step She took.
There was an eeriness to Her accommodations, but She was glad for it all the same.
“What is this place?” She asked.
Enzo had already begun pushing his piercings into their usual places. “Somewhere safe,” he repeated.
“Yes, I feel very safe here,” Raphael muttered, eyeing the disrepair.
“Is old mill. Caught fire long ago.” Enzo gestured toward the charred walls before swooping his final silver hoop into his septum. “Squatters, they come here.”
“Which means we can’t stay for long,” Tobias said.
“You stay for now.” Enzo grabbed one of Raphael’s satchels and dug through it, tossing an apple to Leila and Hylas before snatching up his own. “Eat. I go.”
“Where?” Leila said.
“I get us real food. Until then, you wait.”
“You’re leaving us?” Hylas spoke between munches.
“These foods are for horses and sheep. I know these streets. I find something good.” He stopped at the doorway and flashed a smile. “It is fine.”
He disappeared, leaving a welcome silence in his wake.
Leila exhaled, taking in the first semblance of peace She’d felt in days.
She locked eyes with Tobias—his shoulders sagged, his gaze heavy with exhaustion—then threw Herself into his arms, sinking into his embrace as his hands crawled up Her back.
“I’ve missed You.” Tobias nuzzled against Her hair, then pulled away, taking Her face in his palms. “How are You faring?”
“Well enough.” She took his hands in Her own. “That whole frenzy in the hold. What exactly happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Tobias and Raphael said in unison.
Leila furrowed Her brow but said nothing.
She’d barely taken in the other two men; Raphael was still eyeing their surroundings, his nostrils flared in disgust, while Hylas appeared lost and unsure, his slender frame gaunter than the day before.
Leila tossed a second apple his way before digging into Hers, Her stomach roaring with hunger that She happily satiated.
Ease swept Her like a breeze. The surrounding mill could’ve been an abandoned grave for all She cared.
They were free, and most importantly, they were alive.
“Will we be here long?” Hylas spoke between gargantuan bites, wiping his wet hands down his tunic. “Should I start a fire?”
“Given the history of this establishment, a fire feels like testing our luck,” Raphael said, eyeing the rafters.
“Maybe we can plan our next move?” Hylas’s nervous energy was palpable, wafting from him in green wisps. “Script a plea for the Queen of Kovahr?”
“Maybe we can rest?” Raphael groused.
“Just . . .” Sighing, Leila massaged Her temples. “Do whatever you want. I don’t know. I’m so tired.”
“Raphael is right. We should rest.” Tobias rubbed Leila’s arms, eyeing Her up and down with a concerned gaze. “Eat. You must be starving.”
Leila’s empty stomach growled, and She chomped into Her apple without grace or dignity, devouring it as juice trickled down Her chin. Two days without sustenance were enough for Her to forget Her manners, and She wiped Her mouth with the back of Her hand. “I want to see Delphi.”
“Now?” Tobias started. “We don’t even know if—”
“Please, Tobias,” Leila said. “Let Me do what I need to do.”
Tobias opened his mouth as if grappling for the right words, but he sighed instead. Perhaps he simply hadn’t the energy to argue. “I’ll keep watch until then.” He met Her gaze, and the fear it carried pained Her. “Be safe.”
She couldn’t bring Herself to respond, enfeebled by the look in his eyes. Instead, She squeezed his hand before turning away. Taking a deep breath, She closed Her eyes. The brothel materialized in Her mind, and She relaxed into the feeling, eager to channel the burn of Her light.
A strangled yelp sounded out, followed by the scuffling of feet. Leila opened Her eyes, met with Hylas’s wild gaze as a hooded man apprehended him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.
“Hylas!” Leila cried out, but madness had already descended upon them.
Armed men in black leather snaked from the darkened corners of the mill like ghosts.
Raphael was the next to collapse, and Tobias wielded his blade before it was wrenched from his hand, his arm twisted and pinned behind his back.
He fought against his assailant while another man kicked at the back of his legs, dropping him to his knees.
Leila pivoted, searching for a weak spot to exploit, but all She found were five heavily armed men circling Her, Her allies in their clutches.
Curling Her hands into fists, She channeled Her light.
“Don’t You summon that dark cloud, young lady.” A sixth man appeared, cocking his head in Tobias’s direction. “Or my friends here will make quick work of ending Your betrothed.”
Tobias wrenched and writhed in his captives’ grasps, hatred alive in his gaze. The sixth man wasn’t formidable in size, but he carried himself with power, his glare pointed, his scarred arms casually folded across his chest. Leila reached for the sheath on Her thigh.
“Your weapon,” he said. “Drop it and kick it over.”
One of the other men had already gathered Tobias’s weapons in a pile, and he watched Leila, waiting for Her compliance. She hesitated, but when one of Tobias’s captors drew a blade to his throat, She tossed Her blade to the floor.
“I don’t know who you think—”
“It was very brave of You, posing as a slave,” the sixth man, clearly the leader of the group, interrupted. “But that pallor of Yours gave You away. Besides, these two?” Scoffing, he gestured to Tobias and Raphael. “They’re no smugglers.”
“Fuck you, Mal,” Tobias spat.
“‘Fuck you,’ he says, with a dagger at his throat.” Mal let out a laugh.
Leila ground Her teeth. She’d thought She was free of those heinous smugglers. “This is a mistake you won’t survive.”
“You’re in no position to make threats.” Mal leaned against one of the rafters, picking at his teeth.
“You know, I nearly thought I’d lost You in the crowd.
But then You did that . . . trick. Whatever it was.
I always wondered if Your magic was real or some horseshit shoveled by zealots. I’m pleased to have an answer.”
Leila nearly winced. He’d seen Her shadow walk.
They’d been following Her the entire time.
Why hadn’t She been more careful? Why didn’t She bless Her allies the moment they arrived?
She resisted the urge to curse aloud. So many foolish mistakes had led to this moment, and She was grappling for solutions that hadn’t yet appeared.
“You can try to bring Me back to the sovereign, but before you even reach the shoreline, I will kill you,” She said. “And if by some miracle you complete your quest, My father will kill you himself.”
Mal snorted. “Oh, I have no intention of taking You to the sovereign. You’re coming with me to the Outlands.”
“Mal is the best witch hunter this side of the Thalassic sea,” one of his men added.
“I am no witch.”
“No, You’re The Savior, an invaluable find.” A devious smile spread across Mal’s lips. “With a prize like You, I’ll be the richest man in the ally realms and beyond.”
There had to be an out. She’d killed men before, certainly more than six, but never at once—never with no allies, no weapons, no magic. She steeled Herself, attempting to appear formidable. “I won’t go willingly.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’ll be dead.”
“Don’t you fucking touch Her!” Tobias spat, pulling against his captors.
“I’m afraid that’s unavoidable.” Mal eyed Leila up and down. “Where is it, anyway? Your tongue? Your heart? Magic always needs a vessel.”
Leila’s nerves spiked, and She swallowed hard. “My light only works if I’m living. Only I can wield it.”
“Outlanders have their ways.”
“There is no—”
“They will pay for Your magic whether it’s fit for use or not,” Mal said.
Leila seethed, an ugly blend of anger and fear boiling in Her gut. Her eyes flitted between Tobias, Hylas, and Raphael, searching for an answer, but there was nothing. No salvation.
“So, now that we have an understanding—”
“We do not have an understanding,” Leila hissed.
“It’s a simple transaction. Your magic in return for the freedom of those You love.” Mal pulled a dagger from his belt and pointed it Leila’s way. “Your move, Queen.”
Do something. But each option had played through Her mind a thousand times over, and they all resulted in Her allies’ deaths or Her own.
Tobias stared at Her between his fallen curls, his gaze pleading.
She knew what he wanted—to sacrifice his life for Her safety—but She couldn’t do that. There had to be something else.
“Nothing?” Mal said. “I suppose we have our answer.” He shouted over his shoulder, “Men!”
One of the smugglers at Tobias’s side pointed his blade to his neck, blood beading at its tip.
“It’s My skin!” Leila cried out.
The smugglers froze, and Mal smiled. “Thank You for Your sacrifice.” He nodded at someone behind Her, and a man yanked at Her hair, twisting it in his fist and pulling Her to Her knees.
Tobias cursed and shouted from his spot on the ground, but his voice was muffled by Her heartbeat raging behind Her ears.
“I’m sure You already suspected, but for transparency’s sake, I have no intention of sparing Your companions,” Mal added, his words sharper than any knife. “But at least they’ll die knowing You cared.”
Do something. But Her thoughts had devolved into chaos, and Her laboring heart was threatening to burst. The man at Her side grabbed hold of Her arm and pinned it to the ground, pressing a blade to Her wrist, ready to separate flesh from bone.
A scream ripped through the mill. Hylas had bitten down on his captor’s forearm, blood pooling between his teeth as if he were a wild beast gnawing at his prey.
The other smugglers were distracted by the scene, and Tobias took the opportunity to elbow one of the men at his side, pounding him hard in his nose.
This was it—Her moment. Gritting Her teeth, She summoned the full force of Her power.
Her body dissolved, weightless for a single breath before She reappeared beside the pile of weapons. Perfect. She ripped Her blade from the ground, eyes locking on Hylas.
“Duck!” She cried.
Hylas dropped to his knees, and She launched Her weapon, piercing the wounded smuggler in his chest.
Leila snatched Tobias’s sword from the pile and tossed it his way, and he plunged it into the man hovering over him.
Mayhem enveloped the mill, and She threw Herself at whichever corner needed Her most. Raphael was struggling with his captor, and Leila shadow walked behind them, whipping the smuggler’s sword from its scabbard.
As the man spun in Her direction, She slit him across the belly, sending his innards spilling into his grasp as his knees buckled beneath him.
Gasping breaths barely filled Leila’s lungs.
Tobias was on top of a smuggler, pummeling his face with his bloodied fist. The man who had held Her down—who had intended to flay Her—was barreling Her way, a dagger wedged in each fist. Leila reached for Her sheath, then winced.
Her blade was still stuck in a corpse somewhere, so She dipped and dodged, avoiding the smuggler’s assault.
The second he stumbled, She shadow walked away, yanking Her weapon from the seeping body before reappearing at Her opponent’s side.
The man wavered—an opportunity to exploit—and She hammered Her blade into the junction between his throat and shoulder, not stopping even as he fell to the ground.
Leila hopped upright. Five men were dead, and only one remained—Mal, teeth bared, rage alive in his narrow gaze. He charged toward Leila like an animal, but before She could react, he stopped short, frozen in place.
A sword was plunging straight through his gut, dripping with fresh blood.
Mal convulsed as the sword was wrenched free from his body. He was still for a moment, gazing down at the seeping wound before he slinked pitifully to the floor.
Raphael stood behind the fallen smuggler, eyes wide and hands still tight around the hilt of the weapon. The sword trembled in his grasp, and Leila’s heart broke for him.
His first kill. She’d hoped the day would never come.
“Thank you,” She said.
Raphael didn’t respond. Silence filled the space, save for the heaving of lungs, and Leila closed Her eyes, relishing their victory.
Then Enzo strode into the mill, a loaf of bread and satchel of goods in his arms. He stopped abruptly, eyeing the madness before him—his ragged allies in various states of recovery, and the six dead bodies littering the hay. Perplexed, he turned to Leila.
“How long I am gone?”