Chapter 35 #2
Tomas had disappeared around the time he sent Selene away. Darian said he’d sent men to the ship, and Augustus had believed him.
Augustus bared his teeth. “If anything happens to Selene—”
“It’s done.” Darian folded his arms. “Phya paid for you. Thorne paid for her and the girl. He wants their heads.”
Augustus lurched with a snarl. The men held him tight, and his bare feet scraped against the loose dirt and cobbled stone. “I will fucking kill you.”
Cassia filled his vision, black braids, eyes like midnight. Those scars marred her cheek like branches on an ancient tree.
She gripped his chin in a tight hold and held his face still. “They want to see you flinch, to see you beg. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”
She wasn’t really there, of course. Even so, her words and visage quieted his wrath. Calmed his fear. Cassia’s ghost had been telling him one particular thing all along, and his mother was never wrong.
Selene was a survivor. Today would be no different. As much as it killed him to turn off his worry and fear, he had to focus on his own survival right now.
Behind Darian, Phya shouted, “String him up.”
Darian grabbed a fistful of Augustus’s hair and dragged him forward while the other two men held his arms splayed. Augustus had no choice but to stumble after him, bent and pulled apart. His shoulders felt like they might separate from his arms.
Near the fountain, pirates lifted a premade platform constructed of weathered plankboard, similar to those used to hold the bodies of his six dead fleetmates.
A steel shackle ring with a chain and open cuffs had been affixed near that top, just beneath a second board that was horizontal to the ground.
Two words had been burned into it: The Arachne.
“I thought it fitting,” Phya said, hands clasped behind his back, “to use the remains of your parents’”—he paused to sneer—“offer as a part of your punishment.”
The Arachne had been destroyed for this? Phya was mad—he could have sold that ship. Instead, he wasted an incredible vessel to make a point. Surely, Augustus’s public bloodletting would have been enough.
Darian’s men shackled Augustus to the board.
One of Phya’s bookkeepers appeared with his head bowed and a whip curled in his hands like an offering—a Cat-o’-Nine-Tails. There was just enough sunlight to glint off the metal pieces embedded within the knotted ends of the braided leather.
Darian accepted the weapon without a single flinch in his expression. The tails hit the ground with a sound that wasn’t quite leather and wasn’t quite chain, but promised to flay him all the same.
“How many strikes?” the Bladesworn asked.
“Until I tell you to stop.” Phya met Augustus’s eyes. “Or until he’s dead. Whichever comes first.”
Darian gave Augustus one warning nod.
Augustus urged memory to the forefront of his mind: Selene’s laugh. Her smile. He saw her face, felt her warmth as the whip rose—
And turned her love into his shield.
The entire world went white.
Somewhere beyond the crowd, a deep clicking started—like bone tapping wood.
Selene couldn’t reconcile the sight of Petrina’s head lying inches away from her body. Petrina’s long brown braid soaked up her blood as it created a pool around her.
Tomas—the Bladesworn, the man who was supposed to protect them—swung his sword in a way that sent Petrina’s blood flying across the ground and the nearby wall.
Fisting the long blades at her sides, Selene swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and clenched her teeth around her furious scream.
Tomas sauntered over to Petrina’s head. “And she was supposed to be the hard one to kill,” he mused. He grabbed the end of Petrina’s braid and picked up the head.
Selene nearly heaved up everything in her stomach.
“I’m feeling generous,” he said, tucking the thick braid up through his belt. “I’ll give you to the count of thirty before I come after you.” He gave the head dangling against his hip a quick pat. “And when I’m finished, I’ll hang your head alongside your friend. Give you a chance to say goodbye.”
Hot tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she gave over to her instincts, sprinting toward the safety of the streets. Every step away from Petrina felt like a betrayal, but she couldn’t fight this man. And thirty seconds wasn’t nearly enough time.
She needed to find Oskar. He was her only chance.
Until then, she had to rely on her training. How many times had the Blades made her run those obstacle courses? How many variations had she experienced? Enough to get her through these roads and pathways. She stopped caring about hiding her path and focused on staying ahead.
Selene hip-slid across tables to curses and shouts.
She crashed crates of live chickens against walls for additional chaos, filling the air with feathers and furious squawks.
On one particular sprint across the cobblestone road, an open barrel of tar sat just near enough to an open fire pit.
She heaved the barrel to its side and let the contents splash toward the flames.
Fire and smoke erupted, followed by extreme heat and screams.
She stepped into the thick smoke and crouched low, making her way toward a shadowed corner with a faded, scarred door depicting a curling rose and thorns. She had no idea what she’d be walking into, but decided that whatever lay on the other side was worth facing.
Selene pushed through the heavy door and leaned against the wall just inside, catching her breath.
Bright, flowery wallpaper covered the walls, and silks hung from the ceiling to create partitions.
Half-nude women lounged on settees and at a bar manned by another woman holding a glass of brown liquor frozen halfway to her lips.
The bartender lowered her glass and frowned. “Sorry, love, but if you want to be serviced, you’re going to have to clean up first.” Her eyes lowered to Selene’s clothes, which had a splatter line of Petrina’s blood across them. “We have standards.”
Selene opened her mouth to apologize and make excuses, but different words slipped off her tongue instead. “Include a bath, and I’ll take two girls for the night.”
She wouldn’t be around long enough for either, but if it got her past this room, she’d say whatever she had to.
The woman’s eyes flashed with interest. “Done. Daisy, show her a room and fill her bath.”
Selene dropped coins on the bar as she went by—thankfully, Augustus had tied the purse to her belt before they departed the ship. “Just in case,” he had said with a kiss to her temple.
Her heart squeezed. She’d never needed to see his face more than she did at this moment.
She was shown inside a woman’s bed chamber with an empty claw tub near the fireplace. From the doorway, Daisy told Selene to make herself comfortable, then promised to return with heated water.
The door snicked shut, and in the room next door, someone laughed, light and flirty.
Selene wanted to scream, but instead, she yanked open the wardrobe full of thick skirts, corsets, and blouses in bright colors. She pulled one of each from the rack and tore off her boots, tights, and the man’s shirt she stole from the clothesline, now stained with blood.
After some confusion over the skirt’s slip layers and stays, and the hassle of hefting its weight, she finally got herself dressed.
Her reflection in the floor-length mirror was still a sweaty mess, but the clothes were clean and would help her blend in.
She refastened her weapons belt last—the women around here were similarly armed, so she wouldn’t stand out.
Selene wrapped her head and shoulders under a yellow scarf and returned to the hallway. No one questioned her as she passed, and when Daisy came through with two young girls—all carrying full water buckets—the woman was too busy trying to hold her skirts up and keep the water steady to notice.
The bartender, however, must have recognized the clothes because as Selene headed out the door, she shouted after her. “Daisy! Where do you think you’re going?”
Selene stepped into the aftermath of smoke and cleanup, heart hammering. There was no sign of Tomas. She stayed within the smoke as long as she could, keeping a steady pace as if she had no place to be…just a woman out for a stroll.
The farther from the whorehouse, though, the more her nerves vibrated. She had a rough idea of where to find Oskar, and following the crowds would lead to Augustus. The docks would be easy enough to find…
But Tomas wouldn’t be fooled for long. If at all.
She had to put an end to this on her terms.
Selene stood in the creaking shadow of a tailor’s shop, the windows full of outfitted dress forms and a man inside sewing a garment by hand. She held onto one of the support poles as she took a minute to catch her breath.
The wind whistled by, and the wall groaned. The pole shook. Inside, the tailor froze and looked up.
Selene followed the support pole all the way up to the roof, to the building, and finally swept the entire district as an idea began to form.
A very stupid idea. One she would follow to the bitter end.
For Petrina. For every woman they thought they could silence.
Selene pulled the scarf from her head and let the wind carry it off.
“Come and get me, you fucking bastard.”
Through the scorching pain the leather left across his back, a familiar voice called out from the far side of The Crossroads.
“I asked you to wait for me,” Tristan Thorne said.
Augustus raised his head. Blinked away the white clouding his vision. He squinted past the plankboard that kept him from giving in to the weakness of his knees. His shoulders stretched with the weight of his body, and the cuffs cut into the bones of his bound hands overhead.
Thorne was outfitted in a leather waistcoat, shined black boots, and a smirk Augustus hoped to one day cut from his face. A cutlass was sheathed to his thick belt, and a turquoise scarf fluttered around his waist.