Chapter 4
This burned-down village is starting to reflect more of what I expected when I first pursued a woman requiring someone of my rank.
But this thing lying in the grass? I take her in: Jane’s curvy but small, her face quite proportional, all with plump lips to top it off. And that deep auburn hair of hers...
Why the fuck is she worth all this? She looks more like a lord’s daughter than some vagabond causing issues for the Council.
My blood runs hot from the heat and violence, and now from seeing the first pretty creature since leaving Skull’s Row. In a world where beauties are so scarce and hard to come by, it’s impossible not to make the mental note that in any other setting, she’d be quite distracting .
“We need to get her out of the area—Anya, give her whispering words so we don’t have to deal with her fighting us. Then, we’ll place her on Phantom with me. We ride back to the Talon’s Perch and begin our way to Skull’s Row on the morrow,“ I instruct, eyeing the others that arrive on foot, some sheathing their blades. Bones finally puts pressure on his mess of a nose, wincing and groaning, examining his bloodied hand to assess the damage. Anya continues to wrap the rope around a rag-dolled Jane.
I survey the group, fire glinting off the metal of their armor. “Someone also needs to grab the fucker that I killed. Strip him, search for any markings or tattoos, and then take everything he has, including his head. We’ll spike it and see if anyone knows his face. Ten of you are to remain and search for any other signs that might indicate who burned this place down—stay away if it’s a fire mage.
“Those of this village that can walk are allowed to follow if they aren’t remaining. We’ll send any of the survivors who follow us to Belstead.” I observe the two dozen before me—noting that I’m missing a few—and wonder if the others have found anything. “Whoever I killed wasn’t the fire mage, and this is clearly a mage’s doing. We need to ask every survivor if they’ve seen who it was and where they went.”
Anya stands, staring at Jane who’s listless on the ground. “Who the fuck do you think sent a fire mage here?” she asks, wiping her hands on her pants. She then digs into a leather bag at her waist and pulls out a very sharp, small knife and a vial of clear liquid. Coating the metal, she pricks Jane right on her dainty, pale neck.
“I don’t know,” I say through the mask, searching the area once more, staring at the tree lines. “But whoever sent them isn’t here anymore, if they even came at all.”
“You’re sure?”
I remove my mask, which contracts from its leathery texture to form a hard, distinct ridge like it’s made out of clay. Its magic allows the edges to merge with the wearer it was created for, unable to feel it even when it’s on.
“You know I am,” I reply, feeling no other energy in the air.
If it wasn’t Anya asking—the brains I rely on—then I’d be snarkier about the comment. But she too sees the magnitude of this village being burned.
Coalfell supplies minerals to Belstead while we take their crops. It’s like burning down the king’s food, except from a kingdom known for its vicious monarchs. Someone will pay, and it will be a grisly affair. “We need the identity of the one I killed, though,” I say, clicking my tongue so Phantom comes to me.
The giant beast stands still as I affix the skull mask to the outside of my bag, so others can witness who I am. It’s a unique creation, able to sense its location no matter where I last had it.
And these masks have a way of reappearing, even if one loses it.
I mount the horse, positioning myself so Jane’s body can fit in front of me. I nod to Jane, and Anya motions for someone other than Bones—who’s still tending to his face—as they grab Jane with ease. A little too carelessly.
“Hand her to me. Don’t be rough. The Council wants her in the best condition possible.”
Although, unfortunately for her, it’s not to make sure she’s happy. It’s so she has elongated endurance for torture. As to whatever the fuck she’s hiding, the Council is willing to do whatever is needed to procure it.
The limp woman is lifted upright toward my saddle. I grip Phantom with my thighs as I grab her by the ropes that bind her, swinging her thin yet firm leg over so she sits more naturally. Jane’s head slumps forward, her wavy, silken hair smelling of smoke and her skin smeared with ash.
Securing her against my body with one arm, I grip the reins with my other hand.
“My face fucking hurts,” Bones complains through the blood as he stands. “The fucking bitch.”
“You’ll live,” I reply.
My eyes narrow when I feel a distinct aura of magic emitting right between my thighs. Pulling her closer, the sensation flows all through my chest. What the hells is this? I release the reins and use my free hand to grab her wrist. Sure enough, even in the dark, there’s a fucking mark in blue ink—a healer’s insignia, a design created without equal for each one that bears it.
I snort.
“She’s a fucking healer,” I rasp, eyeing Bones, who’s silhouetted by the burning village. “You’re in luck. We’ll make her take care of that when she comes to.”
As I grab the reins and turn my steed to leave, a woman comes running up—or bouncing up—depending on where someone is looking. Bones glares at her through his blood covered hand. He’s going to be quite enamored with her.
“What are you doing?” the woman asks, breathless. Her blonde hair is in disarray and barely restrained by her two clips at the side, like it might have once been well put together. Soot covers her face, her clothes singed and completely grayed over.
“This one is wanted by the Zenith.” I nod to the small woman secured between my legs. “Go back to your people.”
The blonde looks me over, spotting the black mask attached to the outside of Phantom. “Oh, shit. I know that color leather,” she mutters, speaking as if declaring the fact will help her come to terms. “You’re Soren.”
With heavy sarcasm, I retort, “And you must be the village’s scout.”
A few of my men snort, looking at her like she might be a fresh picking. I glare their way; some of my kind rape and ravage when pirating or ransacking villages, but I only tolerate the ravaging bit.
Rape is for weak men, and the world is already full of enough bastards with broken mothers.
Bones moves ahead, dropping his hand to reveal the wreckage of his nose. “Please tell me you have plans to stay at the outpost tonight?”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” she grinds out, scowling at him.
My gaze drops to the cleavage that no doubt will undo Bones. My smirk rolls into a laugh. “The fuck is wrong with this village.” I pull at the reins, planning to trot off. “You all act like you’re born in a damn tavern.”
“Wait!” the woman shouts. Her gaze flicks to Jane as she ignores Bones, a possessive gleam staining his eyes like she’s a precious thing. Great. Her ignoring him will only make him want her more. “We need help! We are protected by Belstead, and we feed Skull’s Row. Please. We still have laborers left. We have value, and a lot of us need protection or help to get away from here.”
In a world of killing, good labor is priceless for crafting armor and weapons, while the others tend the fields that keep us strong. Good on her for being willing to approach me, just to take care of the survivors.
“You’re a brave lass,” Bones croons. The man is a good foot taller than her as he towers behind her like a shadow creature born out of the flames.
She burns her gaze into me, treating Bones like he’s smoke. I admit I’m impressed—she must be aware of the risk in surrounding herself with mercenaries as defenseless and vulnerable as she is.
“Ten of my men will trail you. Whoever makes it can come with us to Skull’s Row, where we will get you on a ship to cross the Black Sea, or a caravan to Belstead.” I acknowledge Anya. “Stay here and lead the reconnaissance. Ensure the survivors are left untouched.”
The villager’s worry stands out, even in the dark, Bones watching her with mesmerized calculation. “What are you going to do with Jane?” she asks like she doesn’t want to admit this is happening.
I eye the auburn hair in front of me, contemplating. Rather than tell the blonde that she’s probably never going to see her friend again, I choose to be unusually nice and simply say nothing.
I turn Phantom around to face the darkness that will lead me to Talon’s Perch. “Send the fastest horse to ready the Black House.”
Phantom breaks into a full trot at my command.
The woman in my lap begins to stir, but it’ll be a while before she’s coherent again. Speaking in her ear, breathing in her smokey scent, I say, “You’re in a world of fucking trouble, little one.”