Chapter 4 Rathok
FOUR
RATHOK
Icould lie. The truth is dangerous, complicated, wrapped up in things I’ve buried deep.
Instead I say, “Because you smell like your mother.”
She goes still. Utterly, completely still, in a way that tells me I’ve struck something vital.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“I know.”
“Fever. The neighbors said it was fever.”
“It wasn’t.”
I watch the ripples cross her face—confusion, then suspicion, then something harder. Colder.
“What are you saying?”
I should redirect. Find some way to get her moving without explaining things she’s not ready to hear. But she asked, and I’ve spent too long lying for the Ledger Master. I’m tired of lies.
“Your mother was a truth-speaker.” I watch her face as I say it.
Watch for recognition, denial, fear. “She could see the lies woven into contracts—the real terms, the fraud hidden in the fine print. When she spoke truth over them, she could unravel what the Ledger Master built.” I pause.
Let the words settle. “He killed her for it.”
Ivalys’s hand goes to her throat. To the ring on its chain—her mother’s ring, I realize now. The one piece of the woman that survived.
“She told fortunes.” Her voice comes out thick. “That’s what she said. Fortune-telling. Reading palms and tea leaves and—”
“A cover. She used it to hide what she really did.”
She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t scream. Just absorbs it with that same steady gaze, that same iron will. The rage is there—I smell it building, hot and sharp—but she holds it. Controls it.
Strong.
“And me?” She lifts her marked palm. The sigil pulses brighter, responding to her attention. “The contract shifting. The Ledger changing its own terms. That’s because I’m—”
“Her daughter.” I close the distance between us. Can’t help it. Something pulls me toward her, some gravity I don’t understand and don’t want to examine. “And the Ledger Master has been waiting a long time for you to surface.”
We’re standing near enough now that I note the gold flecks in her eyes—her mother’s eyes, I remember, the same strange light that burned when Maren spoke truth. Near enough to feel warmth radiating off her skin, to smell the complicated mix of fear and anger and something sweeter beneath.
“You knew her.” The way I talk about Maren—she hears it. Hears the specific knowledge, the careful weight. “You knew my mother.”
“I saw her work. Once.” I don’t turn from her gaze. She deserves that much. “And I was there when the order came to kill her. I didn’t stop it.”
The words hang between us. Heavy enough to crush.
“Could you have?”
The question stops me cold. Could I have? Back then, bound by the same contracts that bind me now, loyal to a master I’d served for generations—could I have saved Maren Vane?
“I don’t know.” Truth. The only thing I can offer her. “I didn’t try. I told myself it wasn’t my place, that the Ledger Master’s will was law.” I force myself to hold her gaze. “I was wrong.”
The air between us grows heavy. Voices carry—other residents of the Inkwright’s Rest, drawn by the noise, too afraid to investigate.
“We need to move.” I gesture toward the ruined doorway. “Krev bought us time, but the Ledger Master will send others. More than two. We can’t stay here.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere the walls don’t report every word we speak. I’ll explain the rest—your mother, your brother, what the Ledger Master actually wants—when we’re not standing in a room he’s already watching.”
She hesitates. I don’t blame her. A few minutes ago, I was the enemy—the collector come to drag her before the Ledger Master. Now I’m asking her to trust me, to follow me into the dark streets of a city that wants her dead.
“You could still turn me in.” Her voice is quiet. Thoughtful. “Seven days. You could use that time to deliver me yourself, earn whatever reward the Ledger Master is offering.”
“I could.”
“Why aren’t you?”
The question cuts deeper than she knows.
I’ve been asking myself the same thing since I walked through that door and found her crouched against the wall with a sigil burning on her palm.
Why didn’t I take her immediately? Why did I hesitate?
Why am I standing here now, preparing to betray everything I’ve been?
The answer isn’t simple. Isn’t clean. It’s tangled up in the way she faced me without flinching, the way her scent cuts through decades of numbness, the way she makes me feel like something other than a weapon.
“Because I’m tired of collecting debts that shouldn’t exist.” The words come out strained.
Honest in a way I haven’t been honest in decades.
“I’m tired of dragging people before the Ledger Master knowing they’ve been cheated, tricked, bound by terms they never understood.
” I meet her gaze. “Your mother tried to fix something broken. And I let it stay broken.”
She should hate me for that. Turn away, refuse my help, take her chances alone in a city full of predators.
“Fine.” She pushes off the wall. Squares her shoulders in a way that reminds me of her defiance earlier, that same iron spine. “Take me somewhere safe. Tell me everything—about the Ledger Master, about my mother, about what I am. And then—” Her chin lifts. “Then we find my brother.”
Not a request. An ultimatum. She’s giving me terms, and I realize with something between surprise and admiration that I’m accepting them.
Family.
I haven’t had family in longer than most humans live.
Haven’t had anyone worth protecting, anyone worth risking myself for.
The orcs in the enforcer barracks aren’t family—they’re colleagues, tools, weapons housed together for convenience.
The Ledger Master isn’t family. He’s a master.
A chain around my throat disguised as purpose.
This woman is willing to walk into whatever comes next for her brother. A brother who got her into this mess, who signed her life away without asking. She’s either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Possibly both.
“Stay close.” I move past her, taking point. The external stairs are clear—I smell nothing but old wood and older fear. “Don’t speak unless I tell you it’s safe. Don’t touch anything. And if I say run—”
“I run.” She falls into step behind me. “I understand how survival works, Enforcer. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
Enforcer. Not Rathok. Not even Grimshaw. She’s keeping distance with the title, reminding us both of what I am.
Smart. One of us should remember.