Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Aclatter of barrels and crates rolled across the dock boards, coming after Augustus with a fury.
“Move it!” the sailor shouted.
Augustus jumped clear just in time.
Little Gus growled after the man, and his long tail whipped down the length of Augustus’s spine. Tiny sparks of flame shot from his nose.
Augustus patted the dronsian’s head. “Relax, will you? I don’t want to go get my head lobbed off because you’ve got indigestion.”
The Okosian docks teemed with traders, merchants…
and a few extra pirates. In this fortress city, pirates were allowed to roam—but keeping your head attached required respect and sharp instincts.
Augustus had never seen a more commanding military presence.
Peace in these lands came at the cost of lives.
Okos sprawled across the coastline, protected by towering walls so high they nearly blocked the sun. The bustling, wide streets were paved with smooth stones, and the limestone buildings were so clean that their surfaces gleamed in the daylight.
Augustus paused beneath one of the city’s many watchtowers and stared skyward toward its peak. “If we’re going to burn anything down—and I’m not giving you permission—it’d be those bastards.”
Gus whined and nudged Augustus’s cheek.
Eight days ago, the guards in those towers watched Thorne murder people who were as good as family—and had done nothing.
The tales and parodies were played out in every tavern last night to raucous laughter—the Triarius Fleet was finally coming down a peg.
Augustus couldn’t stomach it and spent the night on the ship.
His reasonable side understood Okos’s decision to stand back—the battle happened outside their boundaries in open water.
That didn’t make Augustus any less furious.
The Okosian Navy would have saved a hundred and seven lives, and maybe he’d be having a pint with his father right now instead of hunting down the godsdamned Rangers.
Gus squawked from his shoulder and gave a whole-body shiver. In addition to burping sparks, he had been restless since they anchored.
Augustus flicked him under the chin. “That’s enough. People are staring.”
The people were staring. While he strolled across the docks looking for any sign of Blaze, the locals palmed the knives and swords sheathed on their belts. They were a striking people with dark brown skin, perfect teeth, and the confidence of a viper.
Aside from their skin color, the Okosians reminded Augustus of Pereans.
The men wore short chiton tunics made of light linen fabrics, and the women were similarly outfitted in flowing garments—peplos and himations that fell to their ankles.
But where Pereans preferred their colors to be bright or pale, Okosian fabrics were dyed in deep reds, blacks, and indigos.
Gus sniffed at the air as if tracking something, but Augustus couldn’t guess what. The docks had the usual salted breeze with hints of fish, tar, and wood. His body fluttered again.
“What is with you?” he snapped at the dronsian.
“Augustus.”
He turned toward the call at his back.
Blaze strode toward him, flanked by his Rangers. Despite the warmer temperatures, they still dressed their part in all that leather and gear. Ready to battle any monster, any time.
“Good news,” Blaze said, combing back his windblown hair. “They’re here, and they’re between jobs.”
“They” were the Bladesworn Triumvirate. Three men who commanded a highly skilled mercenary force. They were ruthless and effective.
And expensive.
“Seventy-five percent up front,” Blaze continued with a frown. “Thorne’s latest victory has made thorough rounds.”
“Fair enough. Whatever it takes.”
“And they want whatever they can salvage from Thorne’s fleet when it’s all said and done.”
“They can have it all. I don’t care about any of that.”
Blaze nodded. “I already agreed to the terms.”
Roslyn gave a nod to Augustus’s right. “Here they come.”
To Augustus’s left, Oskar appeared with his half-dozen Blades to his back, his keen eyes on the three powerfully built mercenaries. They were like night and day. The Blades in their simple black tunics, hoods, and weapons.
The Bladesworn Triumvirate made a man stop and blink, and none were dressed like the other.
At the head, the tallest and oldest man with black skin and white hair wore a steel chestplate over a dark tunic and fitted leather pants. The sword across his back was made from heavy iron that required both arms to swing.
The next man, pale-skinned and blond, wore more flexible gear—armor made from leather, studded with metal plates, that was scarred and battered. He wore a sleeveless tunic beneath his armor, showing off his thick, tattooed arms. He was armed with only a leather belt strapped full of daggers.
The final, brown-skinned man had to be as young as Augustus and was the closest to resembling one of the Blade assassins. He wore black leather armor over a black tunic and a black hooded cloak. He was armed with throwing knives and a short sword.
Blaze began the introductions as soon as the men stopped, starting with their clear leader and ending with the youngest. “Darian, Milos, and Tomas.”
Darian gave a respectful nod to Oskar. “Good to see you, Dahlin.”
“Kallos,” Oskar replied in return with what must have been a last name. “It’s been a long time.”
“More than twenty years, if I’m not mistaken.”
Oskar’s attention slid to Augustus. “Darian and I trained together in Linesh as much younger men. You could not do better than having this man at your side.”
Augustus disagreed. He could have the greatest of skilled warriors at his side, but it was men like Oskar and Blaze who mattered. Men he could count on.
Mercenaries had the freedom to walk away in the end. They wouldn’t die for Augustus, Selene, or Mettius. But Oskar would. Blaze would.
The youngest of the Bladesworn, Tomas, raised the back of his hand to the dronsian, letting Gus sniff his knuckles. “Two in the city in the same week. A sign from the gods, surely.”
Blaze’s head whipped around. “Two of what? The dronsian?”
Tomas nodded. “There’s a woman from the island with one. She visits a few times a year. Left early this morning.”
Blaze met Augustus’s eyes, but Augustus couldn’t read what he was thinking.
“The woman,” Blaze pressed Darian. “She was from the Trayterre Isles?”
“She was,” Darian said, eyes narrowing.
Roslyn interjected with an additional question. “Crazy as a loon?”
Blaze put a hand up as if to cut her out, then thumbed the air toward Augustus. “Does she have weird eyes like my friend here?”
Augustus’s muscles turned to stone. “What’s this about?”
The three Bladesworn men took a few seconds to look at Augustus’s eye color, then nodded.
“I didn’t know you were one of them,” Darian said.
“I’m not— Go back,” Augustus said, heart flinging at his ribcage. “A woman with eyes like mine?”
Blaze caught Augustus by the arm. “Not Selene. I’ll explain later.”
Augustus deflated. Of course, it wasn’t her. The woman was mad, apparently—and Selene wasn’t here. She couldn’t be.
Besides, Selene’s dronsian was nowhere near that island or the woman in question. He was currently shifting his weight between feet, his claws pricking Augustus’s shoulder with impatience.
Augustus turned toward the Trayterre Isles. They weren’t far. Only an hour by boat. They were supposed to be uninhabited…
“You smell the other one, is that it?” Augustus asked Gus. If another dronsian had been around that morning, its scent must have lingered.
Gus’s entire neck and head curved down, then up like a wave. Or a nod.
“Fly on over there if you want. You’ve got time.”
Gus’s wings fluttered, then froze at Oskar’s raised voice.
“What? A day, you say?”
Augustus re-entered the conversation. “What’s going on?”
Blaze scrubbed his face—his skin had gone pale. “Thorne left yesterday. We’re only a day behind.”
This news put a rod in Augustus’s spine. A minute ago, they’d been what felt like an eternity from catching up to them. To learn Selene was here only yesterday…
“Did he find them?” Oskar asked Darian.
Find who? Gods, what had he missed?
Gus squawked and fluttered.
“Shhh,” Augustus hissed at him.
Darian said, “Not that anyone is aware of.”
Oskar belted out a laugh and turned sparkling eyes his way. “She’s here.”
The Bladesworn shook his head. “Those girls are not in this city. I would put my life on it.”
This time, Blaze laughed. “That little minx. I know exactly where she is.”
Augustus felt outside himself, following, but wouldn’t dare to hope. He remained still, needing them to reach their conclusion soon. And he wouldn’t dare interrupt by speaking. He barely trusted his impatient thoughts, let alone the tone that would erupt.
Blaze met his eyes. “Selene knew about the island, Augustus. I told her about it.”
Oskar spun the Ranger around, clearly needing more. “What are you saying?”
“Selene escaped Thorne’s ship knowing she would find people on that island.” Blaze laughed again. “She knew because I told her about them.”
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. But the moment the words left Blaze’s mouth, something inside him clicked into place.
Selene was on one of those islands.
The word “mate” clanged through Selene like a bell sitting where her heart should be. The echoes of her past lives turned in chorus, all of them searching Roman’s face for the truth none of them could remember. None of those lives answered to the name Eva.
They didn’t know him.
Not like that.
The dronsian squawked in the corner and flapped his wings, stretching his body as if in preparation to fly. Even if he wanted to, those chains around his ankle wouldn’t allow it.
Aspasia ignored him and darted around Roman with the blade—
Roman’s movements were too swift to follow. He countered her deadly thrust with his bare hands, even as Selene spun to avoid it.
Selene stared at the weapon and the determined woman holding it. Resolve filled Aspasia’s eyes, and not a hint of guilt.
The woman truly meant to kill her.
Aspasia twisted and ducked Roman’s arms, his body, and the barrier he was determined to be. They didn’t grapple like normal people might. They moved like trained warriors, evading and reacting with instinct.
Far more skilled than she.
Selene backed away from their fight, knife at the ready. If she could just slip past them—
Roman and Aspasia tumbled past the exit and slammed into the wall of bookcases, rolling across them and scattering everything in their path.
They traded the upper hand while books and scrolls toppled to the ground along with woven baskets.
Dried herbs strung with twine were demolished underfoot.
Clay pots shattered and shot into all corners.
If Selene was going to escape, now was the time.
Turos squawked again, eyes large and pleading.
She couldn’t leave him like this.
The key was hooked to the tall pole deeper in the room.
She raced to retrieve it, praying to any gods listening that she be granted more time. She lost precious seconds working the key into the small hole in his shackle. Turos held very still, though she sensed his anxiety matched hers. Time was of the essence.
Roman grunted, barely dodging a wide sweep of the blade—
“He’s mine!” Aspasia snarled, voice drenched in something too bitter to be love.
Her anger was cut short by an attack by Roman, followed by the clatter of a falling chair.
Turos and Selene shared a fast look as the lock clicked, and the shackle fell open. The dronsian burst off his post and flew for the open door. Selene sprinted after him into the sunlight, but in those few seconds, he was already gone—nothing more than a shadow slicing across the treetops.
Fly free, friend.
Petrina popped out from behind a tree. She gave Selene a once-over as her hands hooked to her hips. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do— Never mind. We have to go. She wants to kill us.”
“It’s just like you to wait for someone to try killing you before you come to your senses.”
“What’s it say about you that you stick around?”
Petrina shrugged. “I have a weakness for wounded animals.”
Another loud clatter sounded inside the house, and Petrina pushed Selene toward a bush that backed up against the cliff. “We’re going for the wall. Follow me. Stay low and quiet.”
The cliff, lined with bushes and trees along the bottom, led them a long way around the village toward the market. The rockface ended abruptly—so did their cover.
“What now?” Selene asked.
“We cross through the market,” Petrina said. “I don’t think anyone knows that crazy bitch marked us for death yet. Act casual, and no one will suspect anything.”
“The guards won’t let us pass through the wall, casual or not.”
Once Aspasia got the word out that she was hunting them, the guards were more likely to kill them than stop them.
“They’re never going to see us,” Petrina said. “We’re just going to run up the wall.” At Selene’s wide eyes, she shrugged. “I tested it earlier. Three steps. Easy.”
She’d tested it? “You could have left. Why didn’t you go?”
Petrina’s lips dipped into a frown. “Why do you always think I’m one step from leaving you behind?”
“Whatever led you to help me initially—this desire to pay Alexandra back or prove something to yourself—surely you’ve had enough. Aren’t you ready to start your life?”
Petrina’s expression soured. “You’re an idiot.”
Selene wasn’t in the mood for a verbal sparring match. “Forget it.”
She started to exit their hiding place, but Petrina grabbed her by the wrist. “Selene, this is what friends do for each other. We watch each other’s backs. We stick around.” She sighed. “You do it for your friends already. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”
Selene didn’t know what to say. This entire time, she’d expected Petrina to vanish at the first opportunity, only sticking around to kick metaphorical rocks in Alexandra’s face. Even Turos had been smart enough to escape once free.
Petrina shook her head. “It’s weird for me, too. Believe me.”
“It’s not weird. I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you liked me.”
Her hazel eyes rolled so high, Selene thought they might stick. “You’re genuinely nice to be around, all right? And you did jump into the ocean to save me, so I owe you.”
The idea that they were trading life debts felt more plausible.
“Now, can we go?” Petrina asked.
“You’re still set on us climbing the wall?”
The assassin nodded.
If it was three steps up for Petrina, it would be four for Selene.
Damn. “I’m going to need a stool.”