Chapter 57 Kiera
Kiera
Renwell had thought of everything.
When I went to change clothes, I found my old training outfits, instead of my princess dresses, in the closet.
My lip curled.
Clearly, he was trying to make me comfortable—leaving me alone with Everett and Delysia, giving me my old room and my preferred clothes, asking me to play our usual game.
I might as well let him think it was working until I got what I wanted. I had six days left before Aiden and Henry were supposed to arrive. I needed to make them count.
I slipped into a comfortable pair of brown pants and a black, long-sleeved shirt that hugged my skin. He’d also left me a new pair of boots, but I laced on my worn ones, just as he still did.
Moments later, I entered Renwell’s study without knocking.
He sat behind his desk, the Death and Four tiles already scattered facedown in front of him. A steaming teapot, two cups, and a simple breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast sat on a tray at the edge of his desk.
The food smelled amazing, but Renwell’s scent was steeped in the simple furniture and black rug—rose petals and candle smoke. The dangerous reality living under the calm surface.
The heavy curtains were drawn, and a fire warmed the room from the hearth. No matter what time of day it was outside, night always reigned here.
Everything was as it used to be, down to Renwell’s intense gaze as he watched me sit down on the other side of the desk.
“Eat or play first?” he asked, but the gleam in his eyes told me he already knew the answer.
I grabbed a piece of toast and spread apple jam on it with a knife that wouldn’t pierce even the most tender of flesh. “Why didn’t you take Father’s study? It’s bigger. More regal.”
Renwell poured us both tea and put sugar and milk in mine the way I liked. “I have no need for a bigger office. Despite what your father thought, ruling is not all about appearances. It’s about action.”
“Like stealing a stolen throne?”
Renwell leaned back in his imposing chair. “I am more equipped to rule this kingdom than your greedy father or your traitorous lover.”
The toast was too dry in my mouth, even with the sweet jam. I downed my tea. “The Falcryns were chosen by the Four before they left this world.”
“And everything the gods have done is for the best?” Renwell shook his head.
“Do you not weary of obeying orders from dead gods? Did you not shed the role of princess to take on High Enforcer—the very first royal in Rellmiran history to do so? You tire of the same irrelevant rules that I do. So, yes, I believe we’re both better suited to power than those that came before. ”
My appetite suddenly deserted me. There was a time I wanted power—more than what I had as a princess destined to be auctioned off to another man. I wanted to be High Enforcer and bring justice to a world that had killed my mother.
Now? I still wanted power. But I didn’t want it from Renwell. Power wasn’t true if it was simply a token meant to mollify and control. I had no desire to walk from one cage to another.
I brushed the toast crumbs from my lap. “If I win this game, I want to visit Melaena at her club tonight. Alone.”
Renwell studied me as he drank the rest of his tea and set it aside. Probably calculating all the reasons I’d want that instead of freeing my siblings.
“Done,” he said.
“How can I trust that you’ll honor our wager?” I’d never forget that he’d told Korvin to punish me after swearing he wouldn’t allow it again.
Renwell reached down, then laid my knife atop the smooth black Death and Four tiles. “Kill me if I lie.”
I snatched the knife before he could take it back. Instead of tucking it into my boot, I rested it across my lap. Just in case.
“Then let’s play,” I said.
We picked our tiles. After swapping a few, I held Terraum’s bearded head, two sevens, and a six.
Renwell placed a tile facedown. “Mynastra.” He smirked as if he were still laughing at me for what I said about the fall of Calimber.
I selected my six. “You lie.”
He flipped over his tile. Mynastra’s fierce face stared back at me, outlined in gold. Gods damn it. Three Duels left.
“Nine,” I said evenly, shoving my Terraum tile forward.
“Liar.” Renwell tossed Viridana’s sad face onto the desk.
Fucking Four. I had to win or draw the next two Duels.
Renwell laid down another tile and tapped it with one pale finger. “Seven.”
I studied his face. It’d always been hard to read him. If it hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess.
But there could only be one other seven since I had two. Which also meant it didn’t matter what I played.
“Truth.”
He nodded and showed me his matching seven.
I could still win if his last tile was less than seven. My fingers trembled as I revealed it.
He stared down at it without a flicker of triumph or defeat in his gaze.
I fisted my knife in my lap. I had no intention of using it against him—yet. But holding it was a comfort all the same.
He gently laid his last tile next to mine. An eight. He won.
Fear quickly chased my disappointment away. “What favor do you want?” I whispered.
His smile sent a shiver ricocheting between my shoulder blades. “I’ll show you. But you have to wear this.”
He pulled something out of a drawer and tossed it on top of the tiles, making them bounce and skitter away.
A black metal Wolf mask snarled up at me.
The mask made it hard to breathe.
But perhaps that was for the best as I walked through an alley in the middle of the Docks Quarter. Rotting fish, congealed urine, and a thousand other smells assaulted my nose through the holes in the metal snout.
I hated the mask. I wished I could say I hated the Wolf uniform, too, but it was gods-damned comfortable. Soft and loose, and the boots barely made a sound on the uneven cobblestones.
A long sunstone sword, inconspicuous in its sheath, tapped against my leg as I walked.
Renwell touched my shoulder. I stopped and glanced at his matching mask.
I’d nearly backed out of our wager when he met me at my door that evening, also dressed as a Shadow-Wolf. But if I could kill him for reneging, then he would likely do the same.
“No talking” had been his first rule. “Follow my lead” had been his second. When I asked what we were supposed to do, he simply said, “Keep Aquinon safe.”
I highly doubted our idea of safety was the same.
Renwell pointed to where a group of sailors swaggered down another alley adjacent to ours. Their loud jokes rattled against the stone walls like the cluster of bones tied to their waists.
I fell in step behind Renwell as he tailed them.
So far, we had done nothing but prowl the streets.
Other groups of Wolves did as well. I wondered if they still lived in the Den after the battle two months ago.
Renwell pointed out we couldn’t use the faster passage from the royal bedchamber to the Den because Aiden had destroyed it when we escaped.
I hadn’t replied.
Instead, I’d darted my gaze everywhere I could, hidden by the mask. I’d observed the cliff gate—raised as always. I’d peered into the harbor to see what defenses Renwell had set up but saw none, other than the two watchtowers.
I didn’t see his third warship.
Even if I did, I had no way of contacting Aiden. Holy Four, I was glad he couldn’t see me now.
We tailed the group of sailors until they piled into one of the busy taverns. Renwell swapped targets for a thin, mousy man who scurried between pools of light.
Why were we following this man? He looked harmless.
But then I spotted the bulging sack at his waist that rang with the sweet sound of coins, no matter how carefully he walked. He must’ve won a great deal tonight.
Surprise fluttered in my belly. Strange that Renwell seemed to be protecting this man, rather than stalking potential criminals.
After another turn down an alley, we lost him. Renwell held up a fist to stop me. We listened.
Muffled thumps and yells came from ahead.
We drew our swords and darted toward the sound. The mousy man was on the ground bleeding while a large, bald sailor snatched at the coin bag.
Renwell slid his sword under the bald man’s chin. The man immediately froze. He followed the sword’s glittering edge to its owner. The blood drained from his face.
He dropped the bag. Coins spilled every which way, rolling in the muck around the unconscious man.
“I-I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to—” The sailor tried to back away, but Renwell twitched his hand and cut a red stripe across the man’s chest. He gaped at the blood dripping down his front, then bolted down the alley.
Renwell strode back the way we came without looking at the beaten man.
I kneeled and pressed my gloved fingers to his neck. A strong pulse thrummed. He would live.
I hurried after Renwell.
Why punish the would-be thief instead of putting him in the city prison? He had beaten a man unconscious, after all. This sort of brutal justice was wildly unbalanced and could lead to anarchy.
But I kept my mouth shut. For now.
A short while later, we came upon a brawl outside a tavern.
They tried to scatter, bleating with fear, but Renwell wouldn’t let them.
He used his fists and feet freely, punishing each man with crushing blows.
His mask hid his expression, but I swore I could feel his pleasure, as if he relished fighting in the street.
One of the cornered men took a swing at me, and I smashed his face with my metal Wolf mask. He dropped like a stone next to the other brawlers. Renwell grunted his approval.
Perhaps this was his new method of inducing fear, now that he couldn’t ship them off to the sunstone mine.
We left the men there as patrons gaped from the tavern windows.
When we neared the harbor, we spotted two men slashing at each other with curved knives while a woman wept against the sea wall. I raced toward them, drawing my sword. But one sank his knife into the chest of the other. The woman screamed.
Renwell slammed the hilt of his sword against the murderer’s temple. He fell face first in his victim’s blood.
I hurried over to the woman, offering a gloved hand to help her up. She gasped with fear and cowered against the stone wall.
Right. I’m just another Shadow-Wolf out here.
Feeling dirty with guilt, I stepped away from her.
Renwell threw back his head and uttered a shrieking howl. The fine hairs on my arms and neck lifted.
Two more Wolves came and dragged away the unconscious man. Renwell moved on while I whispered a prayer over the other man’s body. As we left, I glanced over my shoulder to see the woman crawl over to him.
Who was he? Why had they been fighting?
I felt like I’d invaded several ongoing stories tonight and hacked them all to threads without knowing why.
It was disconcerting, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
Was the whole city this bad, or had Renwell taken me to the worst part? But even with this amount of violence, his swift execution of momentary justice felt like trying to contain a waterfall in a teacup.
I hurried to catch up with Renwell when someone jumped out of a darkened doorway between us.
The man wore a sack over his face with holes cut out for his eyes and mouth. He brandished a long, wavy knife at me.
Gods, the man must be insane to attack a Shadow-Wolf.
I whipped out my sunstone sword and sliced it through the air a few times, warning him what I was capable of. The long black blade felt as it had in the mountain village—too comfortable, too deadly. And my recent training only made it more so.
But the man didn’t heed me. He lunged. I blocked his knife with my sword, and the steel burst. Without missing a beat, the man pulled out another knife and came at me with furious strikes.
Whoever he was, he knew how to fight well.
He backed me down the alley as I tried to shatter his other blade, but I kept missing it. Panic crept into my mind. I tried to fight it as Nikella had taught me. But I already felt unraveled in this awful uniform, doing Renwell’s dirty work.
The man seized my sword hand and slammed it against the stone wall behind me. Pain crackled through my body.
I shouted and kicked his thigh as hard as I could. He didn’t budge.
A sword tip pierced my chest . . . through my assailant’s chest. He glanced down at it, gasping, the sack on his head drooping.
Renwell’s masked face appeared over his shoulder. He yanked the man off me and threw him against the wall, where he crumpled. Dead.
Renwell spun back to me. I flinched, lifting my sword.
He could kill me just as easily, and no one would know.
Renwell stiffened, then he slowly lifted his Wolf mask. His features were drawn tight, his eyes dark with rage.
“Did he hurt you?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Confused, I shook my head. He told me not to talk.
Renwell lifted his gloved fingers and gently stroked the cheek of my mask.
My heart hammered. Why was he showing concern? This had to be a ruse. A trick to make me forgive him. He didn’t care for me.
“Didn’t I?”
I turned my face away. His fingers dropped.
“We’re done for the evening,” he said in a deeper voice, backing away and sliding his mask back into place. “I’ll take you to The Silk Dancer now, if you wish.”
My brow furrowed. He was going to let me see Melaena even though I hadn’t won our game?
“I want to see his face first,” I said, gesturing to the dead man.
I waited for Renwell’s wrath, for his hand around my throat. But nothing.
He nodded.
I bent over the blood-soaked man and removed his hood. A stranger. Thin, dirty brown hair and a crooked nose. He had strange pink scars above and below his closed eyes.
Why had he targeted me?
“Come, Kiera.”
I left the man in the alley and followed Renwell to The Silk Dancer.
He led me up the steps and held open the door for me. I balked for a moment. I hadn’t realized he meant for us to visit right now.
I would have to meet Melaena dressed as a Shadow-Wolf at Renwell’s side. Gods damn it, she’d probably think I’d surrendered my loyalty to him.
I slipped into the busy atrium of the club. An immediate hush fell over the crowd. Nobles wrapped in fine silks, velvet, and furs stared at us. Jewelry glittered at their necks and wrists like my sword glittered in its sheath.
A small girl nearby stared up at me with stark terror on her face.
That fear hurt worse than anything else had tonight. I must look like a monster to her.
Perhaps that was Renwell’s goal all along.
Renwell sauntered past the quivering nobles to the side corridor. The familiar crimson carpet and ornate doors soothed me the tiniest bit.
The door at the end of the hall burst open, and Melaena emerged, calling over her shoulder, “Ten minutes, ladies! Finish up!”
She caught sight of us and stopped, her plum-colored silk dress whirling about her. “What are you doing here? Renwell assured me—”
“King Renwell,” he said, pulling off his mask. “I brought you a surprise.”
Feeling strangely guilty, I tugged off my mask. “Hello, Melaena.”