36. Zerion
ZERION
Iwait until the sound of equus' hooves fades completely before turning my attention to the two remaining kidnappers. The warehouse settles into an oppressive silence, broken only by the steady drip of water somewhere in the darkness and the labored breathing of bound men.
Draven positions himself beside me, his sword still drawn, the blade catching what little light filters through the grimy windows. The captain's face shows no emotion whatsoever—he's done this before, and he knows what comes next.
The first kidnapper, a stocky human with graying hair and scarred knuckles, glares up at me with defiant hatred burning in his pale eyes. His companion, younger and leaner, keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the warehouse floor, sweat beading across his forehead despite the cool air.
"Let's begin simply," I say, crouching down until I'm at eye level with the older man. "Who hired you?"
"Go to the abyss, you ash-skinned bastard."
The response comes without hesitation, delivered with a practiced venom that suggests he's rehearsed this moment. I nod slowly, as if his answer was exactly what I expected.
"Predictable." I rise to my full height and draw the curved dagger from my belt—a family heirloom with an edge sharp enough to part silk. "Draven, hold his arm steady."
The captain's gauntleted hands clamp down on the man's wrist, pinning it against the rough wooden crate behind him. The kidnapper's bravado wavers for the first time as he realizes what's about to happen.
"You can't—nobles don't—"
"You're confused about what I am." I place the blade's tip against his thumbnail, applying just enough pressure to dimple the nail without breaking through. "I'm not a court dandy concerned with propriety. I'm a man whose family you threatened."
The dagger slides beneath his nail with surgical precision. The man's scream echoes through the warehouse as blood wells up around the steel, but I maintain steady pressure, working the blade deeper.
"The name of your employer," I repeat calmly, twisting the knife slightly. "Or we continue."
"I don't—ahhhh—I don't know any names!"
I withdraw the blade and examine it critically, wiping the blood clean on his shirt sleeve before moving to the next finger.
"Unfortunate answer."
This time I don't stop at the nail. The dagger slides between the joints of his index finger, separating bone from bone with practiced efficiency. His screams reach a pitch that makes the younger kidnapper flinch violently against his bonds.
"Stop! Please, stop!" The second man's voice cracks with terror. "We never met her directly! Everything went through intermediaries!"
I pause, the bloodied blade hovering over the older man's remaining fingers. "Her?"
"A noble lady! Dark elf, like you! She paid through a broker in the port district—we never got a real name!"
The older kidnapper spits blood and glares at his companion with murderous rage. "Shut your mouth, you spineless—"
I drive the dagger through his palm, pinning his hand to the wooden crate with a wet thunk. His words dissolve into incoherent howling.
"Continue," I tell the younger man, my voice perfectly conversational despite the gore spreading across my fingers.
"She—she wanted the children taken alive. Unharmed, she said. Just leverage to make you do something. We were supposed to send word when we had them secure."
"What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know! The broker said she'd contact you directly with demands!"
I twist the embedded blade, and fresh screams fill the air. "Think harder."
"She mentioned—gods, please—she mentioned something about your title! Your estate! That's all I know, I swear on my mother's grave!"
I wrench the dagger free and move to crouch beside the younger man, whose face has gone pale as parchment.
"Describe her. Everything you remember."
"Tall, elegant. Silver hair in elaborate braids.
Expensive clothing, jewelry. She had this way of looking at people like they were insects.
" His words tumble out in a desperate rush.
"The broker called her Lady Something-or-other, but I never caught the full name.
She paid half up front, promised the rest when the job was done. "
I clean the blade again, considering my next move. The information confirms my suspicions, but I need more details about her network, her resources, her next planned move.
"Please," the younger man whispers, tears streaming down his cheeks. "We told you everything. You said you'd consider mercy."
I study both men for a long moment—the older one still defiant despite his mutilated hand, the younger one broken and pleading. Neither has any further value alive, but their deaths can still serve a purpose.
"You're right," I say finally. "I did mention mercy."
"Did you send word to her?" I ask, wiping the blade clean on the younger man's shirt. "Your employer—did you tell her the children were secure?"
The younger kidnapper nods frantically. "Yes! We sent a messenger as soon as we arrived. She's supposed to come here tonight for proof they're alive before making her demands."
Perfect. The trap sets itself.
I glance at Draven, who gives an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. Everything falls into place—the children safe at home, Kessara under guard, and Selmyra walking directly into my hands.
"When?" I press the dagger's tip against his throat, just enough to draw a bead of blood.
"Twilight! She said twilight, when the streets empty and fewer people notice carriages moving through the district."
The older man spits blood and glares at his companion with pure hatred. "You worthless—"
I silence him by driving the blade between his ribs, angled upward toward his heart. He dies with his curses still forming on his lips, slumping forward against his bonds.
The younger man's scream catches in his throat as I turn back to him, the bloodied steel gleaming in the dim light.
"Please, I told you everything! You said mercy—"
"Here is your mercy."
The blade slides across his throat in one smooth motion, opening his neck from ear to ear. He gurgles once before going limp, his life spreading across the warehouse floor in dark rivulets.
Draven helps me drag both bodies into the shadows behind a stack of moldering grain sacks, well out of sight from the main entrance. We work in efficient silence, cleaning the obvious bloodstains and arranging the space to appear abandoned once again.
"She'll expect to find them here," Draven observes, checking his sword before sheathing it.
"She'll find me instead."
Twilight paints the warehouse district in shades of gray and amber as I settle into position behind a support beam near the entrance.
Draven waits in the opposite corner, invisible unless someone knows exactly where to look.
The building settles around us with the occasional creak of aging wood and distant sounds from the harbor.
Footsteps echo across the cobblestones outside—measured, deliberate, belonging to someone who moves with practiced grace despite attempting stealth. A figure in a thick hooded cloak appears, pausing to scan the interior before stepping inside.
Selmyra pulls back her hood, revealing the elaborate silver braids and cold beauty I remember from countless noble gatherings. Her pale eyes sweep the empty warehouse with growing confusion.
"Incompetent zagfer," she mutters, her cultured voice carrying clearly in the silence. "I should have known better than to trust mercenaries with something this important."
She moves deeper into the building, her expensive boots clicking against the stone floor as she searches for any sign of her hired men or their captives.
"Looking for someone?"
I step from the shadows, and she spins toward my voice with genuine shock widening her silver eyes. For a heartbeat, her composure cracks completely.
"Zerion! I—what are you doing here? O-Oh, thank the gods. I seem to have gotten lost wandering the market district—"
"You're exactly where you intended to be." I move closer, keeping my hands visible but ready. "Though I suspect you expected to find Kessara's children here, bound and gagged and ready for ransom."
Her face hardens as she realizes the game is over. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The back of my hand connects with her cheek hard enough to snap her head sideways. She staggers, one hand flying to her face as fury replaces shock in her expression.
"You never should have touched my family."
"They're human!" The words explode from her lips with decades of accumulated venom. "They are not your family, Zerion, I am! I should be the one you're protecting, not that human sack of worthless—"
My hand closes around her throat, cutting off her poisonous words. Her eyes bulge as I lift her slightly, forcing her onto her toes.
"Choose your next words very carefully, Selmyra. They may be your last."