Chapter 10
Isoar high into the night sky, turn into my human form, and free fall back down through icy wind, just to clear Nizzara’s memory. Everything about it still clings to my mind, the divine floral scent, the honey taste . . . and the warmth. Sifting through the guards’ dry, tasteless memories only made me want hers more.
Damn her.
Ice crystalizes in my hair that thrashes over my eyes as I plummet toward the streets of the golden district. I shift back into my spirit form before crashing into an ice-packed road. Just because the impact couldn’t kill me doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.
The little beast was asleep after becoming violently sick, so I decided to check out the popular brothel with ties to the rebels.
Apparently, I draw the line at spying on her while she sleeps. Too intimate.
As I float by ragged figures huddled together in the mouths of alleyways, I realize my people are worse than I thought. Their should-be tan skin is pale, washed out with gray and blue hues. Dark circles encase their empty eyes, and battered clothing hangs from their bony frames. A single mother gathers her children and bustles them down the wintery streets without proper winter cloaks. I continue on, the weight of what’s at stake pressing down even more on my shoulders. For the sake of my people, I must win my freedom.
Now, facing the suave black building, poised between two of the nicest inns inside Zarr city, I’m trying not to think about the shivering children, otherwise the monster will surface. It”s hard to control myself when the deathwalker inside me takes over.
I’m also trying not to give hope to who I think I saw in the guard’s memory.
The Red Cape is known for the most beautiful dancing women in Zarr, and once I’m inside, I do not compare their beauty to Nizzara.
Because then I’d have to grudgingly admit they don’t even come close. Even when she’s sick, she’s a damn knockout. Much to my annoyance.
Mini, polished-stone stages pop up between tables. Dancers in red, flashy outfits climb up and down long ropes throughout the room, and every person, patron or no, is wearing a mask as they grind against each other, lost in the loud music.
I don’t think Lo is here, but with her Mark, there’s no way to be certain. I scan the crowd, looking for her shrewd gaze or wolfish presence. No one fits that bill.
I weave through the establishment, invisible to all around me, trying not to feel the stab of disappointment at her absence.
Business is going, despite the early hour, and some of that business is infantry soldiers. No mask could hide their lethal size or the Military Vessels on their hands. They’re plastered, judging by the way their torsos drape over the polished bar top, probably celebrating a weekend off, granted once every four weeks. After deciding they’re far too drunk for me to catch any meaningful conversation, I open my mind to read their memories. Before I can latch on to one, a redheaded woman glides by, arm in arm with another dancer. Her high, sultry voice is the same as the cloaked rebel woman from the guard’s memory. They disappear behind the main stage. I follow.
The redhead is painting her lips the same shade as her hair when I reach her.
“I could get you to the rebels,” she whispers to the other dancer. “Their numbers are growing, and they have a strong leader. I can help you contact them.”
The more voluptuous dancer looks about the dressing room before whispering, “I’m in debt here. My sister and her family live just a few blocks away. You know what Red would do to them if I left without settling it.”
The redhead’s blue eyes harden. “I would not let that happen.”
Tears well in her companion’s eyes. More dancers file in to adjust their hair and makeup, ending the conversation. I try to reach out to the redhead’s memories, but her memories are strange. Only some are available, as if she’s censored them. Of course, the available ones are useless.
I’m about to leave for another room when a cane strikes the floor with a crisp snap, and the curtains part to reveal a tall man in a red mask. All the women go rigid as he strides between girls poised in front of mirrors. He stops behind the redhead and bends down beside her, his mask even with hers in the reflection.
“My sweet Helina,” he whispers.
She makes a fist in her lap beneath the vanity.
“Why are you dressed for the stage? Hmm?”
“I’m scheduled for the stage, Red.”
He tsks and twirls one of her ruby curls around his finger. “I’m afraid I have you scheduled elsewhere. If you still want me to deliver on our agreement.”
I reach out for their memories, but nothing comes from either of them, as if their minds are encased in a dark void.
Helina sets her face paint down on the vanity and mechanically rises to his side, following him out of the room with her head bowed. I follow them to a backstage wall with a life-sized painting of a dancer in a plume of red feathers.
A bouncer with a piercing through his dark brow is stationed beside the giant picture frame. His skin is a shade darker than the others. Armed with a standard revolver and an entitled air about him, he instantly reminds me of someone from Zo. Their kingdom is the only one that prefers revolvers over swords. They are not, however, the only kingdom with entitlement issues.
The bouncer’s jaw flexes as Red nears. He pushes the painting; it swings out into the hallway like a door, revealing a secret maze of rooms and halls.
Once Helina and Red are both inside, the bouncer closes the painting. Red grabs Helina’s arm and yanks her down the low-lit hall and into a room with a large bed.
“Where’s my shipment of guns, Helina?”
She straightens, her arms stiff at her sides. “The supply vans were raided by rogues last night. We’re cleaning up the mess before Mazzar’s infantries find it. You’ll get your guns by tomorrow.”
He sets his gun on the nightstand, and her eyes narrow on the movement.
“Where’s the other First-Made Vessel, Red? Guns for information. That was the deal.”
A sneering grin splits beneath his crimson mask. “It’s not in the Barrens, where you and Jasper have been nosing around.”
He unbuttons the top of his collar, and Helina backs up a step.
“You agreed to give us the exact location.” She inches back another step.
“Well, Helina, you and Jasper teeter on the line of profitable and pain in my ass.” He slips another button. “So, I’ll be charging a late fee this week.”
“We know you are not from Zarr. We’ll report this business—”
He grabs her arm and jerks her onto the bed, tearing at her red, dancer’s uniform. “See?” he grits teeth as she fights beneath him. “Pain in my ass.”
“Jasper will—”
He slaps her across the face. “He can’t touch me with his mind tricks. I’ve had enough teasing, Helina.” He grabs hold of her strappy outfit and rips it, tearing it at the seams. “You’re my dancer, and I will treat you like—”
I materialize behind him and hook my arm around his neck, crushing his airway before I consciously decide to do it.
His surprise catches in his throat as he claws and thrashes against me like a man beating against a closing coffin. He reaches toward the nightstand, his fingers grazing the white barrel, just out of reach.
Not that it would help him.
Instead of killing him and letting his soul pass to wherever it will go, I sink my fist through his back and breathe in his dark wretched soul, allowing its power to fill my limbs with a burst of strength and power. It shatters and his final scream breaks free as his soul ceases to exist.
No matter how often I feed, my hunger is never fully satiated. I drop his body to the floor, and it lands with a thud.
Helina’s eyes are wide. She pulls herself up and away onto the bed, looking at Red’s lifeless body, then at me.
“You’re—you’re—”
I watch her most recent memory, making sure she did not see the unnatural way I killed the man. From her perspective, I strangled him. Mortals can’t see or hear souls, but after Nizzara heard me, I have to be sure.
Leashing the monster again is the hardest part. It growls for more. I close my eyes, clench my fists, and reign it in. When I finally have some control again, I open my eyes. Her hands tremble as she scoots herself further away from me.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say.
“You’re K-King Dag—”
Well, I guess I take that back. My shadow blade materializes in my hand. If I let this woman live, she could cost me everything.
I raise the sword, every pathway of human emotion dull and frozen.
Helina squeezes her eyes shut and yanks off a gold bracelet before tossing it to the floor. “I don’t want blood on it when it’s given to my daughter.” Her voice shakes, but I’m beyond hearing; my world goes still as I narrow in on the familiar gold chain.
“Where’d you get this?” I breathe, picking it up.
Helina’s eyes narrow as if I slapped her. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking. I traded information for it.”
It’s Lo’s.
Or it was.
I shove the gold chain up to her face. “Who gave this to you?” She doesn’t answer, until I shove the sword toward her.
“Some man! I don’t know who he was—”
“Did he wear a Second-Made Vessel?” It could’ve been Lo using her Mark to disguise herself.
She shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”
I inch the sword closer.
“Gloves! He wore gloves!” she shouts. “What information did you trade for it?”
She inches away from me. “He asked about the shipment schedule for the rebel camps.”
“And you told him?”
She grits her teeth. “I told him a bullshit story.”
“Like you’re telling me?” I wedge my blade under her neck, severing a lock of red hair as it glides closer.
“No, no. I swear. I’m telling you the truth! I support the rebels! I support YOU!”
“Make me believe you,” I growl. I will not make the same mistake of ill-placed trust twice.
She swallows, her neck bobbing so close to the flickering devil sword. “I have a daughter. She lives in the rebel camps. Five years old. I take supplies to them, send wages to them. I’d never give the shipment schedule to a stranger.”
As if on cue, she thinks of the last time she saw her daughter, after delivering a sled of supplies. She has the same deep-red hair as Helina. I look through her other memories until I find the one with the man and the bracelet. Someone I don’t recognize, and I can’t tell if it’s Lo using her Mark.
“I will kill you if you tell anyone who I am without my permission,” I say before removing my sword from her neck.
She shakes her head, her arms still crossed over her bare chest. “I won’t.”
I sheath my sword before unlatching its holster from my shoulder and laying it on the nightstand, shrugging my long sleeve shirt off, and handing it to her, realizing it’s the one I died in. She accepts it like I might kill her if she doesn’t, and I turn away so she can put it on.
After a moment she says, “You can face me now.”
I turn to see her bunching up arm sleeves only to have them fall back down.
“I would thank you—I do thank you—but you’ve killed what I might call a very important business transaction.” Her eyes keep finding my bare chest then falling away as she begins rolling the sleeves instead.
It feels very strange to have substance to my arms for longer than a minute and in a conversation with another being who doesn’t force me to my knees.
“You wanted him to rape you, then?”
She flinches. “No. That wasn’t part of—” She sighs, “He keeps this establishment running along with the shipments to the rebels, which keeps my daughter safe and fed.”
I study the dead man whose hair is the same shade as mine, his body a similar build. If I could gain access to the rebels, I could not only find Lo, but help my people.
“I have a proposition for you, Helina. I need help finding someone, and it seems you need a guy in a mask.”
She scoots to the end of the bed and glances down at Red’s dead body on the marble floor, then warily at me. “Find who?”
“The owner of that bracelet.” I swallow. “You care for your daughter. I care for someone too.”
She glances at the door, some deep emotion behind her eyes, but her desires and mind are blocked. Nodding, she says, “I’ll help you.”
“I also wish to help the rebellion, but I cannot be seen as myself.” I decide, even if I don’t win this bargain or find my sister, using my time here to help my people is still worth it. And, if there’s any chance Lola made it to the rebels . . . I have to know.
I pick up Red’s plain revolver. It’s non-melded, or at least I can’t see any gems melded to it that would make it do more than shoot a bullet, but gem-melding was always a very delicate craft that I never fully understood.
I’m inspecting the white barrel for traces of gem dust in it when she asks, “How much of that interaction did you hear?”
I peer down the white barrel. “All of it.”
She pales. “Aren’t you curious about the lost First-Made Vessel?”
I scoff. “That legend is a lie. You’re wasting your time looking for it.” My great grandfather went mad looking for it. He’s the reason the Barrens are barren.
By the time we emerge from the room, I am wearing Red’s masked outfit—a deep-red suit without a jacket—and Helina knows how I came to be here. She insisted trust was a two-way street, and she’d exchange hers for mine.
“I still cannot believe how much you pass for him,” she says looking at the red mask over my eyes. “Except your eyes are lighter, and your beard is a tad longer . . . and I guess your voice, but still. The resemblance is unsettling.”
“You’re sure we can trust this bouncer? Jasper, was it?”
Her head bobs. “Don’t worry, he does not support Mazzar. Besides, this plan won’t work without him. Jasper is Red’s second in command. He’ll notice.”
“But the other bouncers?” I ask.
“They won’t notice, as long as you don’t give them a reason to notice.”
Our footsteps click on the polished-stone floor as we near the painting. “Which one is Jasper?”
She peers up at me from the corner of her eye. “If you somehow miss the white bar through his brow, his skin is darker, his suits are pricier, and his words are always more compelling than the rest.”
Helina knocks on the back of the picture and the bouncer with the eyebrow piercing—Jasper—opens it. His eyes harden when they register Helina in what’s obviously a man’s shirt, but he smooths the expression by the time his dark-brown gaze snap to me.
I motion with my hand for him to come in. Jasper calls to another guard to take his place and steps into the secret passage of halls and rooms.
Once the picture shuts us off from the rest of the club, I signal for him to follow. His black brows crunch together, shooting Helina a tight glance.
She smiles at him and touches his fingers. “Come.”
His eyes widen slightly for a split second, before returning to the stone-faced expression I met at the doorway. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place who.
I try to read his memories, but it’s as if I’m trying to read a smooth wall with no give. My hackles rise. Trusting people is not what I do any more.
Lo would’ve just killed both of them.
Jasper follows us to the room, brushing past me as he maneuvers the narrow doorway. He goes rigid when he sees Red’s lifeless body on the rug and slowly turns to me.
“Helina tells me you support the rebels. Is that true?” I ask.
Jasper narrows his eyes, but a glance in Helina’s direction prompts him to answer. “I do not mind their existence.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you remember of the late King Dagen?”
Another glance at Helina. She nods.
“He was known to be quite ruthless.”
I raise my chin. I had my younger years full of blood and wine. The rest was Lo.
Jasper’s brown eyes begin calculating under dark brows. “But, the last time my father and I paid taxes to him, we handed King Dagen the wrong bag of ren,” he says, again looking at Helina then back at me. “King Dagen could’ve easily kept the extra ren, but he threw it back at us saying aloud to his noblemen that it was not nearly enough, even though it held thrice what we owed.”
Jasper lifts his head.
That must be why he looks familiar. I remember this tax payment. His hair is much darker than in my memory, his face shape . . . different. But it was twelve years ago.
“Do you have any loyalty to Mazzar?”
His body goes rigid. “Only a debt to repay.”
I raise a brow. “A debt?”
He spits on the floor. “He took something from my family.”
I debate on asking what, but the look on his face tells me it’s not up for discussion and I really don’t care.
“Do you remember what King Dagen looked like?” I ask.
A curt nod. “I do.”
I remove Red’s mask from my face. Recognition fills his face before he takes a knee in front of me.
“Your Majesty,” he says.