Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Iwake to sunlight and Kitty’s cat mask inches from my face.
It’s too close, filling my vision. My first instinct is to reach for a weapon. But my body is sluggish and unresponsive, weighed down by something more than sleep.
“Finally,” she hisses. “I’ve been trying to wake you for an hour.”
My head feels like it’s been split with an axe. Every thought comes slow and painful. I try to sit up, pushing through the layers of fog.
The bed beside me is cold, empty of Garrett’s warmth. He’s been gone for hours but the rumpled sheets still carry his scent.
It’s real. Last night happened.
I reach out and touch the pillow where his head rested.
“Where—”
“Your lordling is at the council meeting. Has been since dawn.” Kitty pulls me upright. My head swims with the movement. I have to close my eyes against a wave of nausea that threatens to empty my stomach. “He’s swearing his oaths of servitude to the Queen.”
The memories crash back all at once. Ballroom lights blurring into streaks of gold and white as the poison took hold.
Garrett’s mouth on mine, his hands steadying me as the world tilted.
He’d worn the Black Orchid poison on his skin.
Every time my mouth found his neck, every time I tasted him, I was sealing my own fate.
He planned all of it.
The Queen’s voice had drifted from the shadows while I fought desperately to keep my eyes open and stay conscious.
Through the haze and the paralysis creeping through my limbs, I’d watched Garrett press a blade to his own chest. He guided her trembling hands to the hilt.
His face was calm and resolved, like he’d made peace with whatever was about to happen.
“He surrendered,” I mutter to myself.
“He did more than that. Garrett bound himself completely to the crown. He’s sworn to her service until death.” Kitty starts throwing my clothes at me. My shirt hits me in the chest and my pants land across my lap. She’s gathering my scattered belongings and tossing them in the satchel.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Our contract is void, Wolf.” She sounds exasperated.
I blink at her.
“The contract was to protect Garrett Clayborne, heir to House Clayborne. He’s no longer that.” She yanks the satchel closed. “He’s property of the crown now. We failed.”
Failed.
The word echoes in my skull.
Three strikes.
“The guild will send hunters soon,” Kitty says, moving to the window to check sight lines. “They’re probably already on their way.”
She peers out carefully, angling her head to see up and down the street. Her eyes scan for threats or any sign that we’re being watched. “We have to run.”
“Run where?” I ask, staring at her. “The guild finds everyone.”
Kitty turns back to face me.
“Not everyone.” Her voice softens with hope. “Some make it to the Free Cities or the Northern Wastes.”
She reaches up and removes her cat mask, letting it fall to the bed. Dark eyes meet mine, framed by lashes too delicate for an assassin.
“We can make it, but we have to go now.” Defiance enters her expression. “Separately. We have a better chance if we split up.”
“What about Shade?” I ask.
“It’s best if he doesn’t know about our plan. The Queen lives, he’s protecting her, his contract with the Wiolants is still valid. He’s safe.” Relief colors her face as she answers patiently.
She pulls out a bag and dumps coins across the bed. Gold and silver spill onto the sheets. It’s weeks or months of saved payment, hoarded for emergencies exactly like this.
“This is everything I have. Take half,” she says.
“Kitty—”
“No arguments. We both know what happens if they catch us.” Her voice is steady but I hear the fear underneath. “I won’t go back to the brothel. I’ll die first.”
“I won’t go to the crypts,” I mutter.
A faint smile crosses her lips. “That’s why we must run, Lucien Sylverin.”
The name makes me freeze. It sounds foreign, like it belongs to someone else. Nobody’s called me that in years. The guild stripped my name away along with everything else.
But Kitty remembers. After all these years, she remembers who I was.
We stare at each other.
Years of friendship flashes in that single look.
All the missions, the close calls, the nights we kept each other alive when the world wanted us dead.
I remember the first time we worked together.
Aurora saved my life by putting an arrow through a guard's throat at fifty paces.
She stitched up a wound on my side, her hands steady even when mine were shaking from blood loss.
Aurora Vortigern.
This might be the last time I ever see her again.
“Where will you go?” I ask.
“South of Avalon maybe. Somewhere with too many people to notice one more runner.” She divides the coins, pushes half toward me. It’s enough to buy passage, supplies, maybe bribe a guard or two if necessary.
“You?”
“North,” I say quickly. “The Wastes. Maybe I can find what’s left of the Wolven clans in the Darvan mountains.”
It’s a lie.
The Wolvens are dead. They’ve been gone for years, slaughtered in the purges and scattered to the winds. There’s a slim chance I’m going to find any long-lost family waiting to welcome me home. But it’s a better story than ‘I’ll run until they catch me.’
My eyes drift around the chamber and settle to the chessboard Garrett and I never finished.
The pieces are still where we left them. My knight threatens his king. His queen is positioned to counter. I can’t remember whose turn it was.
“He drugged me.”
Kitty pauses in her packing.
“To keep you from interfering and to save his family from slaughter,” she says without judgment. “In his position, we’d have done the same.”
Would I?
I think about Garrett’s hands on my skin, his mouth saying my name.
Those moments had felt real. Does he even know what he’s condemned me to?
Perhaps I should have told him what happens when an assassin fails their contract.
I wonder if he would even care. Perhaps he thinks the sacrifice was worth it to save his house.
“Good luck, Wolf.” Kitty shoulders her pack and moves to the door.
“Wait.” I call to her.
She pauses and turns.
“Be careful,” I say quickly. “The routes to Avalon are crawling with bounty hunters. Stick to the Fae King’s roads during daylight. They won’t try anything in front of the Red Road Sentinels.”
“I know.” Her voice catches slightly. “You too. The Wastes are unforgiving even without the guild on your heels.”
There’s so much to say and no words for any of it.
Thank you for the years, thank you for standing by me. Thank you for being the closest thing to family I’ve had since the Sylverins.
Everything I want to tell her lodges in my throat. “Aurora—”
She crosses back to me quickly and pulls me into a fierce embrace. Her arms wrap tight around me. I can feel her heart beating against my chest. It lasts only a moment but I memorize it. I store it away in the place where I keep the few good memories I have.
I don’t want her to leave me.
She pulls back, adjusting her pack. Her hand finds mine and she squeezes once. “If we both somehow make it, meet me in five years. Shepherd’s favourite bar. Midwinter night.”
“Five years?”
“It’s long enough for the guild to stop actively hunting.” She puts on her mask and moves back to the door. “Don’t you dare die before then, Lucien.”
“Since when do I take orders from you?”
She almost smiles behind the mask. “Stay alive. However you can. Whatever it takes.”
“You too.”
She nods once. Then she’s gone.
I dress quickly in my leathers. My fingers work the buckles quickly in the same order I’ve followed for years. If I die, at least I’ll die in familiar clothes.
My weapons are where I left them. I gather them and strap on every blade I own.
I tuck the daggers to my hips and the throwing knives into my wrist sheaths.
I make sure they are positioned properly for quick draws with either hand.
The garrote wire is sewn into my belt, thin enough to be invisible.
I inhale slowly and lift my main sword, sliding it into the harness across my back.
The weight is familiar and reassuring between my shoulder blades.
It won’t be enough against guild hunters.
They’ll be better armed and better prepared. But I’ll fight to my last breath.
Elvarstyne Keep is buzzing with activity when I slip out.
Servants rush through corridors carrying linens and breakfast trays.
Guards stand at their posts, alert but relaxed.
The Archon is over and their vigilance is no longer razor-sharp.
There’s an energy in the air, a sense of celebration and relief.
Conversations echo off stone walls, punctuated by laughter.
No one stops me.
A few servants glance my way but their gazes don’t linger long. Through a window, I glimpse Aelfheim’s Grand Palace where the Elven Council must be taking place.
Its towers pierce the sky, reaching so high they seem to touch the clouds.
Banners fly from the highest points. The Queen’s emerald colors, snapping in the wind.
It’s too far to see clearly but I imagine Garrett on his knees, swearing away his freedom.
I picture him in that grand hall with its vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows, head bowed in submission.
Did last night mean anything?
The way he’d looked at me in the candlelight made me feel wanted and important. I can’t forget the things he’d whispered against my neck. But had any of it been real?
It wasn't.
I hate myself for being stupid enough to fall for Garrett. He is a noble commander from Aelfheim. I wonder if I’m just another way to pass the time. A body to warm his bed one last time before he became the Queen’s loyal dog.
Yes, that’s it. Maybe he needed someone to drug, fuck and discard before surrendering everything. One last indulgence before a lifetime of servitude.
I guess I’ll never know.
We’ll never see each other again. I’ll never get to ask him if any of it was real, if he felt even a fraction of what I felt. The city streets are crowded with people celebrating.
Fiddles and drums spill from taverns even though it’s barely midmorning. People dance in the squares and there’s laughter everywhere I look. Everyone is happy and celebrating.
The Archon is over with the Queen triumphant.
Rhianelle Wiolant had won without bloodshed or burning half the city to achieve her goals.
She’d turned her greatest rival into her most loyal servant.
It’s a masterstroke of political maneuvering, the kind of victory that will be talked about for years.
Her enemy turned Royal Guard is proof of her mercy.
That’s the story they’ll tell.
The queen could have chosen Damnation but chose compassion instead. How she accepted Garrett’s surrender and gave him a place of honor at her side. No one notices one more hooded figure slipping through the shadows.
I keep my head down, hood pulled low over my face. I time my movements to blend with the crowd. It’s a skill I’ve honed over years to fade into the background. I’m just another person in a sea of faces, unremarkable and easily forgotten.
I reach the city gates before the feeling hits. That prickle at the back of my neck that screams predator.
I hasten my pace towards the entrance. Guards stand on either side but they’re relaxed, waving people through with barely a glance.
Fuck, I’m being tracked.
Fear floods my system and my heart rate spikes. My hand moves toward my blade without conscious thought, fingers already curling around the hilt.
They’re already here.
Somewhere in this crowd. They’re watching and calculating the best moment to strike. I don’t see them yet but I know they’re close. The guild doesn’t waste time and they won’t send amateurs. They send their best and most efficient.
The ones who never fail.
Defaulters get dealt with immediately, within days at most. The guild can’t have assassins running around with knowledge of their operations and the skills they taught us. We’re loose ends to be eliminated quickly and quietly before we can become bigger problems. I know exactly how this works.
Time to run.