Chapter 37
The town passes in a blur. Shopkeepers slide metal chains over their storefronts, and merchants pack their wares into their carts, closing for the rest of the day.
My hair comes undone and clings to the sweat coating the back of my neck. Water splashes into my boots as I round into the alley. The back door of the safe house comes into view, and I slow to a stop.
I scan the other end, but everyone has already tucked themselves inside, avoiding the royal guards’ patrol. Creeping through the shadows, a sour taste fills my mouth, and a ripple slithers under my skin. My muscles shift, hair lengthens, and in a light tug, the glamour disappears from my face.
My breath hitches. The sensation travels over my shoulders and shifts my frame, shortening my legs.
Bodies dressed in blue fill the mouth of the alley—wing-capped shoulders, blades glinting in the late afternoon sun.
My heart stops. Guards.
I throw myself behind a pile of rotting crates and hold my breath, peeking through the narrow slats.
One takes a step forward. “Did you hear that?”
My pulse pounds in my ears, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, stifling the whimper crawling up my throat.
He takes another step, tilts his head, and narrows his eyes at the barrier I’m crouched behind. Another step. “I’ll go check it out.”
My shaky fingers curl around my dagger, and my foot slips, splashing into a puddle. The guard takes a step closer. I slide the blade free as the toe of his boots come into view.
A shout comes from the street. The guard halts and turns on his heel, but hesitates.
“Now, Bradley!”
He flinches at his name, and takes off down the alley the way he came.
I slump against the wall and suck a deep breath. Even though the sun still hangs in the sky, no one is permitted on the streets at this hour. And if I were caught, in pirate clothing, there would be higher consequences. Pirates aren’t rewarded with a swift execution.
I grit my teeth and peel myself from my spot, my pants soaked through with putrid water. They sag under the weight, but I hoist them up, tightening the belt as I jog to the back door.
Before I wrap my hand around the tarnished doorknob, the door flies open.
“Briar, get yourself in here before I have a heart attack!”
Rita shoots her arm through the doorway and yanks me in by the collar. Her clothes are rumpled, errant hairs hanging loose from her usually prim curls.
“I thought that guard was going to catch you,” she breathes, a pale hand pressed to her chest. She scans my clothes and retreats a step, brow furrowed. “Why did I see those clothes on a pirate in a tavern?”
I kick the door shut and slide the lock, tugging the curtain over the small window. My gaze darts up the quiet staircase, and I lower my voice. “I want to tell you, but I can’t.”
“That was you. A competitor in The Gales.” Her breath catches. “Oh, Briar, what have you done?”
“That’s not important right now. What is, are those missing women.”
The wrinkles on her forehead deepen, and she shakes her head, leading me toward the stairs. “Right. I’ll show you their room.”
We climb the carpeted steps to the narrow hallway lined with bedrooms on either side. A large shared bathroom caps off the end.
Rita stops at a door and eases it open into a room lit by a window on the far side. Four small beds line the walls, each with the sheets pulled back, pooling to the floor. A pile of clothes lay neatly folded on top of a chest of drawers, like one of them did laundry but hadn’t yet put it away.
“Their bags are still here,” Rita whispers. “As well as any money they have saved over the last few months.”
“Have you asked everyone if they know anything?”
She nods. “They know nothing. But they’re all on edge, hardly leaving the house in fear they’ll be taken.”
I lift the mattresses one by one, but nothing has been hidden between the bed and the wooden frame. Circling the room, I pause in front of the tall dresser and pull a drawer open. I shove my hand beneath the clothes and slide it along the seam at the back. Nothing.
I open the next drawer. Nothing.
Dropping to my knees, I open the bottom one and dip my hand in. My fingers brush a slip of paper.
My breath hitches, and I ease it out.
Its edges are frayed, as if it was frantically ripped from a larger piece of parchment. Swallowing, I unfold the paper.
The room spins.
I bolt to my feet and yank the pendant from beneath my shirt. Holding it out, I compare it to the scribbled drawing on the paper—the mountains are drawn in shaky ink, and the swirling symbols are messy, but it’s an undeniable match to the necklace.
Rage burns a trail under my skin, but not like the searing lick of flames. It’s the cool calm of the sea before a tempest swells, the harmless eddy before it morphs into a deadly vortex. I crumple the paper in my fist.
“I need a change of clothes.”
Rita looks over my shoulder, and her face pales. “Do you know where they are?”
“No, but I know who took them.”
Her eyes widen. “Jenna’s clothes should fit you.”
She disappears into the hallway. I peel off the wet clothes and shove them into a canvas sack hanging on the back of the door. Making quick work of the sheathe, I undo the belt and set it on a mattress.
Rita returns with a stack of clothes, and I shrug them on, replacing my dagger at my thigh, well hidden beneath the hem of my tunic.
“Are they going to be okay?” she whispers, staring out the window at the ocean stretching into the distance. She turns to me. “Be honest.”
I shoulder the canvas sack, its bottom soaked with water. I study Rita’s eyes—the only part of her face untouched by time. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. And if they’re hurt, I’ll kill who’s responsible.”
Rita nods, her brown irises darkening. “Make them suffer.”
She leads me to the back door, and I braid my hair back. “Don’t let anyone leave tonight, and going forward, they are not to leave alone, only in pairs or groups. If you find more of these”—I hold up the slip of paper—“send someone for me immediately.”
She nods. “Be safe, Briar. Please.”
I fold my hands around hers and run my thumb over the fragile skin. How many more goodbyes do we have? Tears prick my eyes, but I swallow them down. “You too, Rita.”
Her eyes glisten, but she looks away and opens the door. She stiffens. “Who are you?”
My hand palms my blade, and I dart around her into the doorway. At the base of the steps, with a single foot on the stairs, stands Kressa.
Her brow furrows. “Briar?”
I guide Rita behind me and back into the house. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.”
Her jaw quivers, but she closes it and slides the bolt into place.
The top step groans under my weight, and I lower my sack to the stairs as I pin Kressa with a glare. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I saw Harriet come this way.”
“You were mistaken.” With cool calm, I step down and yank my dagger out. “Where are the missing women?”
She retreats and draws a blade from her ankle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My lips tilt into an icy, sinister grin. I pull the crumpled paper from my pocket and throw it to the ground at her feet. “You don’t? Are you going to tell me this is for luck as well?”
She stares at the paper as it sinks into a shallow puddle, blurring the ink.
“Where are they?” I hiss.
My power swells, almost close enough to grasp. I reach for it, but it slips through my fingers.
“Briar,” she says, no more than a whisper against the blood pounding in my ears. “You won’t find them. Let me explain.”
My vision glows red, and I bare my teeth. “No need to explain.”
In a flash of metal, I slice my blade through the air. Kressa blocks and wraps a hand around my collar, but I plant a kick into her stomach. She flies back and slams into the wall.
She rubs at her shoulder and grimaces. “Must you always resort to violence?”
“I know enough about you to know your words can’t be trusted.”
She grits her teeth and rolls out her neck. “If that’s how it’s going to be, so be it.”
Pushing off the wall, she lowers her shoulder and barrels into me. My foot slips on the slick stones, and I slam into a deep puddle.
Water splashes, soaking my clothes, and my dagger sinks into the muck, hilt glinting above the surface. Kressa pins my wrists to the cobblestones and throws a leg over my middle, straddling me.
Not so deadly without your dagger, are you? She lowers her face and smirks. Your door is wide open, love.
I narrow my eyes and throw my forehead into her nose. It hits with a crack, and she brings her hands to her face, cupping the blood. I buck my hips, throw her off, and snatch my dagger from the water.
My palm meets her shoulder blades, slamming her onto her stomach, and she grunts as her face meets stone. I settle my knee on her spine and bring the tip of my dagger to her throat.
You were saying? I put enough pressure on my blade to pierce skin. Tell me where they are.
She grabs my wrist and bucks, somersaulting me over her. Twisting, she captures my waist between her legs and throws me onto my back. She pins my wrists over my head with one hand, the other angling her blade at my throat.
I thrash, but it’s no use.
She leans over, chest heaving. Water beads at her lips and nose and drips onto me. Her dark hair is soaked through, hanging around her face. I need you to trust me.
I slam my mental door shut. “I’ll never trust you. Never. You’re no better than Caelus.”
She goes rigid. The sharp edge against my throat disappears, and her weight lifts, legs untangling.
I push myself up, wet clothes clinging to my skin. Kressa stands frozen, water soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt, plastered to her body like a second skin.
Our gazes meet, and her hand loosens around the hilt of her blade. It clatters to the ground, the echo reverberating through the alley.
She taps against the door in my mind. I ignore it.
“I’m nothing like him,” she whispers. “I’d never hurt you.”
I exhale, and the inhale burns my lungs. Singes my nerves. “Bullshit.”
I shove her into the brick alley wall. Her back hits with a thud, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, doesn’t fight back. Gritting my teeth, I fist her collar and slam her into the wall again.
Nothing.
My blood boils against my veins, and I bask in it—let it consume me until all that’s left is pure, unadulterated rage.
Her face remains blank. Unfazed. I’m not going to fight you.
A scream climbs up my throat, and I flick my dagger, angling it directly over the thick scar spanning her throat. Her pulse thrums against the blade, as if in invitation. I lower my face within inches of hers. “Get out of my head.”
Then learn how to keep me out when your emotions go haywire. Control it.
I press my lips into a thin line and slam the mental door so hard it rattles on its hinges.
She smirks. “That’s better, love.”
“Caelus said you’re a spy from the Earth Court,” I seethe. “I’ll ask one more time, what did you do with them?”
A strangled laugh comes from her throat. “I’m not a spy. You are.”
I press harder, until the scar puckers around the sharp edge, and ignore my power screaming to pull away. “Answer my question.”
The amusement wipes from her face. “If you think I’d harm them, you know nothing about me.”
“You’re right. I don’t. So start talking.”
She presses her lips together, and her fingers brush over my waist. The water pooled in our shirts seeps into my skin, calling attention to every spot our bodies touch, the fabric hardly a barrier. My breath catches, blade falters.
“I’ll take you to them. Tonight.”
Her soft tone caresses my skin, and the power thrumming in my chest grows. I meet her gaze, and she holds it.
Something behind her eyes softens, and I lower my blade. “Okay.”
“Meet me in my room tonight.”
Nodding, I retreat to the steps and thread the canvas bag over my shoulder. I shoot one last warning glare at her. “If you ever return here again, I’ll kill you.”
“No, you won’t.”
I sheathe my dagger and stride past her. “I would. With a smile on my face.”