Chapter 23
Lure Him First, Kill Him After
“What are you waiting for?” Marina whispered from beside me in the alleyway as we studied the street—or rather, its newest additions. “Aren’t you going to go to him? This is your chance. You won’t even have to bother with the fortress.”
Nearly as much as Rafaela had cautioned me about Alobaz, she’d warned me about her childhood home, the one she continued to refer to as the Abysmal Fortress—or the mean, stone-hearted bitch, depending on how much olandule she’d consumed and if Alonso was present.
I dipped my head and hissed at Marina, “I can’t kill him out here. Too many witnesses. It’d be a lot to track them all down, make sure there are no loose ends. And I couldn’t miss any, not even one.”
“I don’t mean to kill him. I mean to … you know.” She gestured toward my figure, a hand up and down the length of me.
“Oh.”
“Lure him first. Kill him after. I thought that was the plan. Make him pay for our dear Teo.”
“It was. I mean, it is.”
“Then…?”
I scoffed and straightened my back, checked that my breasts were primped and enticing—they were—and that my bustier cinched my waist just so, a sliver of bare flesh revealed between its hem and that of my skirts—it did.
“I can’t just stagger out into the street and say, ‘Hello there, stranger. Want to fuck me? There’s nothing suspicious going on here, I swear. I have absolutely no idea who you are.’ I have to use finesse. Make him think it’s his idea.”
Marina leaned forward, taking in the approach of Alobaz and his retinue.
It could only be Alobaz.
Even if I hadn’t seen renderings of him, I would have recognized this man as the general of the Domdurron Empire. No one but Alobaz Hawxley could radiate such arrogance and superiority that I could actually feel them from where I stood.
The ego on this, asshole. He believes the entire Opalese revolves around him.
Hate mingled with a strangled pain and erupted at once in my heart.
Never before had I experienced hatred like this. Not even for those who’d caged me, caged Teo. At least they’d left us alive.
My hatred pulsed in time with the beating of my heart. My power responded, my blood thrumming too.
For the first time, I observed the man responsible for ruining my life. My hatred adopted a voice of its own. A continuous chant of punish, punish, punish, punish harmonized with my thumping blood.
My hatred even had a scent: smoldering embers, the acridity of burning flesh, the ashes of scorched bones.
The monster within me reached for this nascent hatred with an unexpectedly tender touch, plucked it loose of me and cradled it in both clawed hands; gazed at it, smiled fondly upon it, as if it were an infant child and its mere existence reason to swell with pride; brought the infant hatred to its bosom to ensure it was protected, able to grow strong and fierce.
I hate him.
Here was the man who’d stolen the only person in all of existence I couldn’t do without. And then didn’t even have the decency to exhibit a speck of remorse.
I will flay the skin from his flesh. For Teo. For Zaraga. For every miserable being in this wretched world who’s endured tragedy and loss at his command.
Here the murderer was, parading down the street, a retinue of hookers hustling after him like fawning little ducklings. With his long, haughty strides, several of them had to skip every few steps to keep up.
Both The History and Conquest of the Domdurron Empire and The Opalese World in the Modern Era contained full-page illustrations of the “most important war commander of all time,” the former in color, the latter only a line drawing.
In them, Alobaz was formidable: tall, brawny, and imposing.
I’d never seen a man so muscled that his arms and chest pressed their bulging outlines into his clothing, or sketched long, prominent lines into the thighs of his pants.
I’d assumed his physique was exaggerated. He wouldn’t be the first royal I’d met and discovered that their chroniclers were motivated by self-preservation.
The Opalese World in the Modern Era also had a half-page bust drawing. I’d believed it, too, to be smoothed over, particularly his face.
Even the least attractive fae were prettier than all but the most striking humans. A s?nglure especially had stunning features. When we were rebirthed, it was as if the spark of faithum that gave us a second life also imbued us with a preternatural beauty—some of us more than others.
In person—fuck him—Alobaz was everything the illustrations had suggested—and more. Damn him! May he roast in the Igneuslands for an eternity of torment.
His biceps bulged even with his hands shoved in his front pockets. His shirt was pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with more muscle. Strapped to his back were two greatswords that only the strongest of all warriors—a minuscule percentage—were capable of wielding well.
His face… Fuck his stupidly pretty face.
His eyes were a vibrant, Moaning Ocean blue-green.
His hair was a dark blond streaked with strands lightened by the sun.
He wore it long and partially braided, pulled back from his face with a leather queue, exposing the pointed crests of his ears that marked him as a fae.
His lashes were annoyingly dark, and thickly fringed, making his eyes appear so bright they all but glowed.
His skin was tan when s?nglures tended to be pale, his face stubbled with the start of a beard.
His mouth was full, plush, and pressed into a scowl.
Maybe the whores weren’t showing him enough adulation for his liking, when they were practically kissing his ass while he walked.
His ass, of fucking course, was two round, firm globes.
When he arrived at the steps leading up to Slake, he stopped. The whores piled up behind him. He pointed that scowl at them, and I perked my ears to listen. I should have been able to pick up everything he said, and yet I heard not a thing.
Strange. Infuriating. What reason did the prick have to be so secretive?
Every Opalesian had to already know what he was like, that he was beyond redemption, deserving punishment that matched his innumerable crimes.
We could take turns punishing him for a century—two, three!
—and still not begin to balance out all the pain he’d caused this world.
He’d caused me.
Without Teo, I couldn’t fully breathe. Couldn’t fully feel, except for this loathing.
Whatever Alobaz was saying led to the hookers looking up at him in surprise. He was a head taller than the tallest among them.
One of them asked him a question. He responded in a few sharp words. Then the women, clutching skirts that resembled mine, climbed the steps. One fished a key from her pocket and opened the door. They entered the darkened Slake.
Alobaz brooded with that obnoxious pout of his—like he had any right to gripe about anything when his father had plundered our world and handed all that stolen wealth to his family.
He looked around, at the people and creatures in the streets, who’d stopped whatever they were doing to look, skipping over the alley where Marina and I hid.
He leaned his back against a post, hitched a heel against the porch, and apparently proceeded to pretend he didn’t notice everyone was staring at him.
I wondered whom these Opalesians had lost at his hands, how many loved ones. No one could hate him more than I did. No one.
His attention shifted as six soldiers stalked toward him.
Based on their powerful bodies and light steps, like they were always scouring their surroundings for attackers, they were evidently the remaining members of his absurdly named Bazrian Seven.
Them, I’d have to be mindful of. The History and Conquest of the Domdurron Empire emphasized how vigorous they were in their defense of their leader.
The book postulated that Alobaz’s backup had taken a blood oath to defend him.
If they failed and Alobaz died, their lives would be forfeit—whether to the emperor or to dark magic, the book didn’t dare speculate.
If their oaths were real, then perhaps I wouldn’t have to kill them too, but simply allow Death to claim them on his own.
The soldiers consisted of four men and two women. One of the females was huge, the other petite. They were easy to recognize. Edwidge was the big one, Aziza the small. It was more difficult to tell the men apart. The books hadn’t included renderings of Alobaz’s comrades.
Two of the men were nearly as large as Alobaz. The other two were leaner, longer, and looked faster. Their hair covered the crests of their ears, concealing what would be the severe points of one, signaling that he was the elf Félix.
They were all armed, I was sure, even if some didn’t reveal their weapons. Edwidge had a crossbow and quiver of bolts fastened to her back. One of the bigger guys wore two swords crossed behind him, like Alobaz did. The hilt of a single broadsword peeked behind the other’s back.
“I don’t like the look of them,” Marina said.
I started. I’d forgotten she was with me.
Eyes wide and brimming with meaning, she gazed up at me—but said nothing.
Every one of the Bazrian Seven was a s?nglure. Just because I couldn’t hear what Alobaz said didn’t mean they wouldn’t be able to hear us—and scent us too.
My hiding place wouldn’t remain secret for much longer. Time to act.
Before I could, a young boy, in the transition phase between childhood and manhood, stepped out from behind the wall of Edwidge and one of the big guys.
The boy was bouncing on his feet, gesticulating with excited sweeps of his hands. He looked up at Edwidge and at the man beside him.
Then his eyes landed on Alobaz.
The boy’s entire face lit up with the force of a hundred lumoons. He ran to Alobaz, slid to a stop in front of him in a plume of dust. His lips started moving.
Alobaz sighed. It was clear even across the street, which was wide enough for multiple carts, and currently free of the manure common to cities of all sizes.
The boy beamed at Alobaz. I gawked. How could the boy do that? Didn’t he scent the monster, so close he could rip his throat out before he could finish another word?
The boy smelled of meadows, fresh and new in springtime, like the clear, pure water of its streams.
He was an easy meal served up on a platter for the likes of Alobaz.
I tensed, preparing to watch the boy die.
Alobaz laughed. The boy threw his head back in brief delight before clapping his hands.
What was this? A … ruse?
Alobaz spoke. The boy, frowning now, shook his head. Alobaz spoke again. I still couldn’t make out a damn thing!
Then the boy plodded up the stairs as if those same feet that had danced moments before were now leaden. He pulled open the door, leaned on it, dropped his shoulders in a visible sigh, then dragged himself inside Slake, the door swinging shut behind him.
With drawn expressions, Alobaz’s six soldiers sidled up to him. Edwidge and one of the big guys nodded greetings at a few of the Galmeenians.
I expected Alobaz to talk with his companions, to scheme up some new heinous crime against the Opalese.
Silently, he glanced at each of his soldiers in turn, taking time to absorb their expressions, their postures.
Then, without warning, his stare stretched beyond them.
Past the onlookers. Around the corner of a general store.
Those limned blue-green eyes speared me. As if he’d harpooned me, and a chain stretched taut between us, I found myself rounding the corner, stepping out into the street, swinging my hips as I prowled toward the man who’d singlehandedly ended the world as I knew it.
The man who’d killed my twin brother.
At my back, Marina’s breath caught.