Chapter 54 #2
Henri gave me a sad, lopsided smile, then walked away.
Luther held me closer, and we all watched in silence as Henri strolled down the wide central road, waving down the men on patrol and pointing down an alley.
The men grinned and clapped each other on the arms, then set off the way he’d sent them.
Henri lingered for a moment and looked our way.
Then he was gone.
Taran slung one of the bodies over his shoulder, and Luther put on Teller’s cloak and grabbed the other. “You two stay here,” he ordered, setting off for the cell before I could protest.
“What if this is a trick?” Teller asked me. “Maybe Henri lured Luther here to kill him. Maybe he’s going to get reinforcements to kill us all.”
“The mortals here can’t kill me,” I murmured—though my eyes snapped to the street Henri had walked down. “Ophiucae did something to their minds to prevent it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because I’m his daughter.” Teller bristled, and I sighed. “Family is complicated, you know that. Where we come from and what we become can be different things.”
“Which of those is being his daughter, D—where you came from, or what you’ve become?”
The sound of creaking metal pulled my focus back to the cell. Luther was holding the door for Doriel while Taran draped blankets over the mortal men and positioned them to look asleep.
“Diem . . .”
I groaned. “I don’t have answers for you, Tel. I know how I’m supposed to feel about him, but I don’t. He and I are connected by more than just blood. I have more in common with him than I—”
“Diem.”
“What?”
“Where’s Ophiucae?”
My head snapped to the south, and my heart went as dark as the empty expanse. Ophiucae was nowhere in sight.
I barely managed a hoarse “stay here” before I was flying down the library steps. I ran to the cell, gasping for air. “Have to leave . . . Ophiucae . . . I don’t know where he—”
“What’s going on here?”
The voice wasn’t Ophiucae’s, thank the Undying Fire, but its owner was almost worse. Francis, Vance’s third-in-command, had emerged from the city, striding toward the cell.
“What are you doing with the prisoners?” he called out.
Luther grabbed me by the arm and dipped his chin to keep his hood low. “Taking them to Ophiucae. His orders.”
“When Father Vance and Brother Brant are gone, all orders are supposed to go through me,” Francis said.
“I guess the glowing bastard doesn’t trust you,” Taran chimed in.
Francis went pale. “Why wouldn’t he trust me?”
Taran shrugged, then grabbed Doriel and roughly dragged them up the library steps. Luther and I started to follow, but Francis moved into our path.
“What’s he planning to do with her?” he asked.
“Come ask him, if you want,” Taran called back. “I bet he loves being questioned.”
Luther quickly nudged me away. Francis watched us, taking a few steps to follow, then stopped. He hesitated, then started again.
“City’s too empty,” Luther said loudly. “Where’s the evening patrol?”
Francis stopped again behind us, scanning the city with a frown.
“Heard they found some whiskey,” Taran added. “They’re probably drunk by now.”
Francis scowled. “They should know better. We’re vulnerable with our army away.” He took one last look at us, then turned back for the city. “I’ll check in with you two later.”
Relief washed over me as we scurried up the steps, trading tight-lipped looks.
“Wait,” Francis called out. “I didn’t get your names.”
“Brother Phélippius,” Luther said. “From Arboros.”
I cringed. He couldn’t have picked a more Descended-sounding name if he tried.
Taran looked at me and winked. “I’m Brother Henri, from Lumnos.”
My stomach dropped. Francis had been the Lumnos Guardian in charge of assigning members to missions. He knew Henri well—well enough to be aware that he was not the seven-foot, hulking mass of muscle under Taran’s cloak.
“Run,” I whispered.
Francis slowly pulled his blade.
I shoved Luther ahead of me. “Run!”
“Time to grow some legs, worm,” Taran yelled, letting Doriel go.
Francis bolted toward us, and we scrambled up the stairs. I slipped on a step and lost my balance, tumbling backward. A strong arm pulled my body against theirs to stop my fall, and I sagged in relief—until I felt the edge of a blade graze my throat.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Francis warned in my ear. “The others might not be able to hurt you, but I can.”
The fear in his voice made me doubt him, but I didn’t dare risk it. “Run,” I yelled at Luther. “You can’t let Ophiucae see you.”
Luther didn’t run. With lethal, menacing slowness, he descended the stairs. “Take your fucking hands off my Queen.”
Francis jerked me further back. “Stay where you are.”
Luther moved faster. His voice rumbled in thunderous wrath as he drew the Sword of Corbois. “If that knife touches her flesh, I’ll pry your eyes from their sockets so you can watch while I flay the rest of you alive.”
Francis’s blade wobbled. “One whistle, and my men will come running.”
“Then I’ll either kill them all or I’ll take as many of them into death with me as I can.” Luther pointed the tip of his sword at Francis. “And I’ll start with you.”
Francis looked nervously toward the city. I did the same to the empty southern hills.
“Leave, Luther,” I begged. “I’ll find another way home.”
Francis stilled. “Luther? Prince Luther?”
I winced at my slip. If Francis put Ophiucae’s focus on Luther . . .
Francis glanced over his shoulder again, then back. “You’re working with Auralie?”
Luther studied him before answering. “I am.”
Francis lowered his knife, and I felt his grip on me go slack. A hand on my back nudged me forward. “Go.”
I ran, not daring to trust my freedom until I crashed into the safety of Luther’s arms. He didn’t hesitate, either, pulling me into his side and starting up the steps.
“I’m sorry about Andrei,” Francis called out behind us.
My running slowed. Luther hauled me up against him to keep pace.
“Vance said he was only going to rough Andrei up,” Francis said. “Scare him a bit. It went too far.”
“This whole war has gone too far,” I yelled over my shoulder.
“I know. We’re taking a Descended’s orders. Vance has forgotten whose side we’re on.”
I wanted to scream at Francis that this was no longer a fight between mortals and Descended, if it even ever was, but Luther’s insistent pull kept me focused. Taran and Doriel had made it to the grasslands, their lantern abandoned by the brush. I prayed my brother was with them.
“Tell Auralie I’m sorry, too,” Francis shouted. “I did what I could to—ungh . . .”
His garbled moan finally drew my eyes back. Francis had dropped to his knees, features twisted in pain. He felt all over his body as if searching for a wound.
Luther froze beside me. My eyes shot to the city, expecting to see Vance’s men running to attack, but the streets were still quiet.
Francis doubled over with a groan. When his head rose again, blood dribbled from his mouth—and grey, rotting clumps of skin crumbled from his face.
Fortos magic.
My blood chilled to ice. “Ophiucae—he’s found us.”
Luther didn’t answer. He no longer could.
The shadows beside the library seemed to turn to liquid, melting away in puddles as they filled with ominous grey light. At its center, a glowing man appeared with Taran and Doriel walking beside him in a stiff, unnatural gait.
“I warned you so many times, my wayward daughter. What a shame this slaughter will be.”