23. Chapter 23
Ines
We stick to the shadows as we sneak through alleys and dash across docked gondolas bobbing atop sleepy canals, the water deceptively soothing as it hides many mysteries below.
Sometimes the terror of Marco's corpse escaping the bindings and weights and floating to the surface to expose my sin encourages me to avoid the canals, but with them carving throughout the entire city, it would prove difficult to do.
Slinking through the Night District, avoiding all the drunken revelry, I assume we're heading to The Jaded Fox to meet with the others.
Or at least convene in the upstairs apartment Shaw and Carmen take up residence, but Remus suddenly cuts down a narrow alley leading in the opposite direction of the bar.
The safe house in the Bronze District comes to mind, but that can't be where we're going either because Remus suddenly scales a building and heaves himself up to the roof.
He doesn't look back to ensure I'm behind him, but I easily follow suit and climb up the side of the stone building, using divots and cracks to secure my footing, and slide up over the terracotta roof tiles.
Without exchanging a word or look, we tip-toe across trellises and head south which takes us to the Scholars District.
Some of the oldest buildings are in this part of the city and with countless libraries, churches, and university lecture halls, this is the perfect place for someone to not only get lost but to stumble upon ancient secrets.
It's also the best place to meet with others and no one would suspect ill intent.
I take a deep, satisfying breath, inhaling the crisp, cool night air and smile.
I haven't scaled a building and darted across rooftops, leaping from balcony to balcony, in months and it feels really damn good.
Freeing. Speed, precision, and little regard for how one slip of the foot could lead to peril are all keys to becoming a true shadow of death and wraith of destruction.
Since leaving Otero's, Remus and I haven't exchanged a single word which suits me just fine. The last thing I need or want is for him to pester and pry into my feelings. I'd rather plummet to an early, gruesome death than admit how kissing him felt.
It's been an hour of me silently following him, matching every acrobatic move across the slumbering city. Part of me wonders if this is another one of his weird tests to see my stealth skills in action. But as soon as we turn the corner, a small gasp leaves my lips, bringing me to a stop.
Iglesia de los Santos, which was the first constructed church in Orlencia, comes into view and its beauty bids me to take a moment to admire its splendor.
I crouch and examine the spires that stretch toward the starry night sky like fingers begging to touch the Saints themselves.
Mullions usher my eyes down to countless bar and plate traceries housing stained-glass windows of enviable craftsmanship.
The intricate designs and vibrant colors beckon me to come closer.
But this church, glorious as it is, doesn't welcome my kind. The only patrons allowed to enter the arched wooden doors are the rich and powerful. The poor and ill were never welcome to cross the stone threshold, but that doesn't mean I haven't wondered what splendor hid behind the masonry.
Bells suddenly toll from the tower, alerting no one in particular that midnight has come, and the mischief of the night is now at play.
Remus squats beside me and quietly drinks in the majestic architecture until the twelfth chime ends, the melody trailing off in the distance.
I'm not really sure what his beliefs are and I'm not sure I care.
He's a Venturan and therefore his people, when they first integrated with Orlencian society, would have been encouraged to convert to the overall faith of the city.
I don't really believe in anything or anyone other than myself.
I've never failed myself, even in my lowest of lows – of which there have been plenty.
In the end, if the Saints do exist, I doubt they would willingly accept my wicked and wretched soul.
I'm not sure how long we sit in admiration, but Remus finally breaks the extended silence when he stands. "Come. It's far more impressive inside."
My eyes widen. "We're going to Iglesia de los Santos?" I shake my head, a sudden fear washing over me, reminding me of my stained heart. "It's reserved for wealthy practitioners."
"Last I checked, the Saints didn't put restrictions on who could worship them where. That's a construct created and enforced by men." He reaches his hand out. "Now hurry. Olli will be waiting."
My brows pinch together, once again nursing the nagging thought Remus isn't being completely honest with me. "Olli? Why would Olli be inside the church?"
"Olli has many forms and takes up many odd jobs," he shrugs, as if it's no true feat to deceive people so effortlessly. "He's a chameleon of sorts and he's very good at blending in wherever he goes. Now are you coming or not? I don't have time to wait out here all night."
I take his outstretched hand, allowing him to hoist me to my feet.
I don't anticipate the force of this jarring motion and I collide against his broad chest. Flicking my eyes up to meet his, it's odd to see him wearing the mask I first met him in.
It's as if my brain is having difficulty fusing Salvador, Don Rafael and Remus into one person.
How can he be all three at once and not blow his cover.
A master of deception indeed. I'm but a petty thief.
Deep rooted charades are still foreign to me, but despite all his identities, I can't help but feel all three of them care for me.
The slight uptick at the corner of his mouth draws my gaze. I swallow hard to compose my rapidly beating heart before whispering, "You look like you're up to something."
"I was thinking how lovely you look with the mask." His gloved hand slips up and flicks strands of hair from my face. "The phantom and his wraith."
"You mean the viper and her fox."
"So you do claim me." His sly smile makes my insides twist.
I clear my throat to distract him from my reddening cheeks and jerk my chin toward the church. A silent plea for him to take me where we need to go without any more delays.
"Olli is waiting for us, is he not?" I remind him and he reluctantly trots to the end of the rooftop and slides down the side to the dark street below.
I dutifully follow suit and perch my legs over the edge before swinging over the side to descend, but halfway down, I hear Remus hiss, "Stop!
" and freeze. I stare down at him and see a mixture of fear and determination etched in his face.
Before I can question why he issued such a command, he places his index finger to his lips and jerks his head across the plaza before crouching behind a stack of crates on the opposite side of the alley.
Shit.
Marching our direction in their pristine crimson and gold uniforms are three patrolmen in the Red Guard.
The Red Guard consists of the most elite soldiers in the Orlencian armed forces.
Their skills in observation, interrogation, and detection are only a few attributes that compose a man of the Red Guard.
If I move a muscle, they'll see me.
If I breathe too loudly, they'll hear me.
If I give them any reason to look upward, they'll spot me.
And if they pursue me, they'll more than likely catch me.
They're one of the reasons I never attempted to venture to the Scholar District before.
And they're certainly the only reason I won't ever cross the heavily guarded bridges to get a glimpse of the castle on the Royal District islet.
They're like war dogs, excellent in hunting their prey and leaving no evidence of a victim.
I press my body flush against the stone wall, the tips of my fingers and toes inside my boots finding purchase in the few cracks and divots with hopes I don't fall two stories before them.
All I can do is hope the shadows of the night will conceal me from their sight.
With the smallest of movement to check to see if Remus is still behind the crates, I find not only is he still there, but he's armed with two daggers and poised to use them should he need to.
The knives are an advisable choice. Using pistols, like the ones strapped to my thighs, would be loud and draw far too much attention from the other Red Guards more than likely stomping down another street.
Knives are silent and certainly deadly, and in the right hands, no one would ever know we were here.
The notion that Remus hasn't left me to my own devices brings me some comfort, but I hate this vulnerability. If I attempt to scale up to the roof, I'll be spotted for sure. I don't have enough time to finish my descent and rush to Remus' side without them noticing either. I'm royally screwed.
My fingers begin to ache, my white-knuckle grip waning. But I'm far too stubborn to allow my trembling muscles to be my downfall.
As the three Red Guards approach, I can't help but wish they were more like their less-than-vigilant brothers-in-arms that patrol the other districts.
The Black Guard take their rounds in the city lightly, joking, smoking, and drinking their way through their shifts.
Those brutes are more interested in a good time than a fight.
But the Red Guard is always ready to attack first and ask questions later.
Hell, if the Soberano himself were traipsing around the Scholar District this late unattended, they'd throw irons around his wrists and ankles before asking him to state his name and business.