Chapter 2
By morning, nothing but ash remained where any establishment associated with Pochette once stood.
Every man under his employ was either missing or growing cold in the gutters.
Talwyn and her group of misfits had spent the better part of the last eighteen hours picking through the rubble.
They had no death toll, having found the countless bodies were blackened and mutilated beyond recognition.
They’d seen more death in one night than the last hailfire outbreak.
Smoke burned her throat as she walked through the remains of Pochette’s gambling den to the rectangle that used to be his office.
The scavengers already scoured the place, leaving nothing but cinders and footprints.
A bloody, charcoal-coated hand poked out from under a blackened wooden beam.
Tal stepped around it, noting it ended at the wrist. She nudged the burnt seat of a heavy desk chair with the toe of her soot-covered leather boot, not sure whether to be angry or relieved.
If her friends had their way, she would have woken up this morning as the queen of the docks. Now, she was queen of nothing but ash.
A light breeze sent more dust and sparks swirling up around her and she covered her face to avoid breathing it in.
Her eyes followed the dancing embers as they aimed for the clouds.
A large weeping willow stood sentinel on a distant hill, mocking the current state of the docks.
As children, she and Carrick would trek to the base of the tree and watch life continue below them, a king and queen on their earth-made throne.
The tree would listen as they exchanged grand plans of the future, plans that never came to be.
Behind her, Carrick bent down to a frail old man sitting on the ground, his blistered hands held before him. Carrick offered his waterskin and pulled a jar from his pocket, applying the pink healing salve to the burns. Tal doubted the old man knew Carrick used half the week’s salary to buy it.
Exotically sweet spice carried downwind. Without looking, she asked Rainier, “Did they leave anything behind?”
“Nothing important. And no one either.” Rainier, along with the rest of their crew, had gone searching through another of Pochette’s establishments.
“They were thorough. Destroyed the ships and the distillery too.” Unlike the gambling dens and whore houses, the ownership of the ships and distillery, were not public knowledge.
Rainier, however, had known about all of Pochette’s endeavors for years.
The crew should have taken control over it all that morning.
“Damn. They could have at least left the ale.”
“They got Greggs.”
Tal spat. “Good riddance.” Greggs tracked everyone’s debts for Pochette and, while he never carried out punishment, he most certainly enjoyed watching.
He also happened to be their link to Pochette’s empire.
“I don’t care if he sold us information.
Once we were in, he would have been disposed of too. Any sign of Duncan?”
Pochette’s muscle and right-hand man wanted to end Tal’s life in the most drawn out and sadistic of ways ever since she permanently disfigured his boss.
Pochette had held him back partly due to the violent promise Tal had left him with.
His fear of her wasn’t far off, but she didn’t so much have a plan in place as she simply didn’t need protection.
“Duncan and his two guards are still missing. That’s two weeks now. He might have left before Pochette brokered his deal.”
“Even if he’s dead, there’s no chance we’ll identify him among these.” She gestured to the limbs and torsos littering the street. Her mind swirled with the implications of the attack while her gaze lost focus on the silent scream of agony on a bodiless face among the ash.
Rain bit his lip as if contemplating his response. “How are you feeling? Did the training help build your reserves?”
Tal nodded absently. “I’m awake at least. I still have some fury left in me before I’m fully drained. It’s getting easier to build up enough reserves to last a week or so before I need to rest.”
His teeth worried on a single spot on his lip until it started to bleed. “Good. After this, I wouldn’t advise you to drain your reserves. If something happens, we can’t have you comatose for days on end.”
Tal’s fury flared in her chest. “It’s not like I can control it. You know better than most that magic doesn’t work the way we want it to, and the price is steep.” She narrowed her eyes at him, noting the flare in his nostrils, but he didn’t respond.
After hearing of Pochette’s betrayal, Tal increased her training tenfold.
She’d been in and out of consciousness almost every other day, then would throw herself right back into training.
By the night of the rendezvous, she could burn down a small building without blinking.
She eyed the remnants of the empire that ruled the docks not twenty-four hours prior, the empire she should be taking control of, all burned to nothing.
“This changes things,” Rain voiced Tal’s thoughts.
She nodded. “We should see if the others have found anything.”
They’d made a home for themselves in the underground sewage system.
No one bothered them. The smell alone deterred most of the riff raff, and others who lived underground wished to be left alone.
After nearly two decades, they’d learned which tunnels were no longer used, cleaned them up, and founded their own little haven.
A large opening had been turned into a sort of gathering space.
Blankets and hay-stuffed cushions sat atop crates that acted as seats and a table, where Egan placed a plate of bread and cured meats.
Carrick stood against the far wall with his arms crossed.
Sybil cleaned her boots with a dirty rag while Rainier read through the notebook he kept as a ledger.
Egan tossed a gold coin next to the plate. “Found a few more of these among the rubble.”
Rainier leaned forward and snatched up the coin. He turned it over in his hand. “More of the king’s gold.”
Tal caught the coin when Rain tossed it to her and ran her thumb over the raised image on the side. “What would Pochette’s businesses be doing with coins containing the king’s seal?”
Rain shrugged. “Could be nothing more than money passing hands at one of his businesses. Could be something else. Now that they’re reduced to smoking coals, it’ll be more difficult to find out.”
“Greggs should have mentioned it,” Carrick growled.
Rain shrugged. “Either he didn’t think the particular type of gold in the business mattered, or he betrayed us as much as he betrayed Pochette. Nothing we can do about it now.”
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry we’ll be gutted in an alley by one of his men,” Egan mused.
“Don't be so sure,” Carrick warned. “Not all of them are accounted for.”
“I don’t believe that a single one of them is gone until I see their lifeless bodies floating down the Taralin.” Tal picked at soot under her nail with a knife.
Egan tapped a spot on the stone floor. “Who do you think did it?”
Tal flicked her eyes to Carrick, who answered for her. “Mages, if what Pochette said is true.”
The twins stiffened at the word and exchanged a glance.
“I think it’s time you tell us what happened in the southern kingdom,” Tal said. A sense of foreboding filled the room.
Fifteen years ago, Rainier and Sybil showed up at the docks in the bottom of a cargo ship.
They were frail from poor nutrition but fierce as a pair of tigers backed into a corner.
At just thirteen years old, their father paid one of the ship’s crewmen to hide them on board, handed them packs of essentials, and said good-bye.
Until now, no one pestered the twins about their story, and they never shared it.
“The mages didn’t come as dignitaries with grand announcements and celebrations.
One night, they just appeared,” Sybil began.
“For weeks before, maybe months, those with elemental magic went missing. Most of the time, anyone who would have witnessed it was found dead—stabbed, poisoned, burned, you name it.”
Carrick met Tal’s gaze, and their conversation of the recent bounties and missing witches replayed in her mind.
The disappearances had already started in Meladair.
They’d been hired by one family to locate a mother, then a son, a sister, and soon, the numbers became too large to keep track of.
While disappearances weren’t uncommon between the trafficking rings, Netters, and general criminal activity, no one suspected any outside forces.
But those disappearances, now coupled with the long silence from the local witch coven and this new information, spoke volumes.
Sybil continued, “At first, we thought it was infighting. Magic governed our society, and power often changed hands. It got to a point where we didn’t know what to do, so we hid anyone with magic who couldn’t fight.
Then they started sending their apparitions—faceless copies who would speak as if without a soul.
They wore long dark cloaks that would have been much too hot for the climate.
They met with folk in secret and offered coin in exchange for information on the whereabouts of anyone with an ability.
But those who completed their end of the deal only lived long enough to see their reward go to waste and were soon found suffering the same fate as the others. ”
“And those who refused didn’t make it to sunrise,” Rainier added.
“Did you get a good look at the reward they offered, where it came from?” The weight of the king’s coin in her pocket pressed against Tal’s leg.
Sybil frowned while Rain merely shook his head. “It’s unlikely they’d have the same gold, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He held up the coin still in his hand.
“What of the mages?” Carrick interrupted.