Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“It is. He’s lying about where it came from.
” Machias’s glare is so intense that it makes me itch, as if he can see through the fabric of my cloak.
But there’s worry beneath it, a concerned uncertainty.
“That box—I know it. It’s from our usual supplier.
But these two are not their couriers. They’re thieves… or worse.”
Shit. There it is. Confirmation that this little meeting has gone fully tits up. I guess my fifty-fifty estimation of a murder attempt tonight was optimistic. My hands itch for my sickles, but I stay calm, giving Nolan a chance to charm our way out of this.
“Disappointing.” He sounds as if he’s been told they’re out of his favorite pastry. “I came here to make a deal, not be accused of theft. Tychus assured me that despite not coming through known channels, these items would be in high demand.”
“Oh, we’ll definitely take them.” Ramiro is obviously pleased. “That’s a good payday there.”
Machias bristles. “This is more serious than I expected. If they’ve stolen—”
“For fuck’s sake, Machias,” Ramiro groans.
“What does it matter if your supplier wasn’t as careful as they should have been?
The Salt Sects will still get to suckle the teat of their Goddess; you’ll still make your profit selling to them.
But this time you’ll pay that filth’s value, not our usual cut to look the other way. ”
“Ramiro, listen to me. What if someone sent them here?” Okay, Machias is no fool.
This gives Ramiro pause, though Machias doesn’t elaborate on who that “someone” might be.
It’s clear Ramiro and the Caerula are involved with what gets smuggled into Cyprene, but I’m starting to wonder if they have any idea of what else Machias is involved in.
Nolan keeps stone-still, probably chewing on the same question, and our predicament.
The path to the reliquary lies through Machias.
But Ramiro currently stands in the way. And I doubt he plans to claim the Renderers’ wares and let us take a walk.
This is going to be tricky. There are at least ten Caerula I see, probably more that I don’t—too many for my liking, even if they have no idea what they are up against. They’re closing in slowly, swords and knives glinting.
“You’d satisfy yourself with pocket change?
” Nolan addresses the Caerula leader, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“Because it sounds to me what Machias objects to is no longer having full control over supply. I’m offering you this and more…
much more. With my help, you—everyone here—could be richer than you ever imagined. ”
Machias frowns. “Another lie.”
“Or not,” Nolan challenges. “Because you suspect I can deliver what I promise. Which makes me wonder… Ramiro, are you certain you always get your fair share of what Machias imports to Cyprene?”
It’s a smart move, trying to cast doubt, spread temptation—to Ramiro and beyond—but a quick snort of laughter makes it clear the attempt is futile.
“Legitimate or not, you really don’t understand how it works here, do you?” Ramiro says. “Unlike Tychus, I’m satisfied by a little bit of greed. Enough to keep my pockets full, not so much to draw attention from the mainland.”
Damn. We wanted overly ambitious heretics. Instead, we get under-ambitious common criminals.
“Whoever you are… if someone sent you…” Ramiro shrugs. “People disappear in Cyprene all the time. Hand over the box,” he instructs, flashing a cruel grin, “and we can finish this up, quick and easy. Promise you won’t feel a thing.”
Nolan doesn’t move. Neither do I.
But the Caerula step closer, tightening the ring around us.
“I’ll get it from her,” Tychus squeaks, desperate to regain some small favor, save himself.
“No need.” I step forward, holding the betraying, but not terribly sturdy, box high. “Don’t come any closer, though. Or I’ll smash your good payday here all over the cavern floor.”
Everyone goes still. The encroaching Caerula wait for instruction from their leader.
“I thought so.” A little bit of greed is still greed. “Now what?” I say to Nolan.
He sighs. “There’s only one thing we’re after.” Machias. “Looks like we’ll have to get it your way.”
That’s all I need. Nolan goes low the instant I toss the box high into the air, pulling a knife from his boot and arcing it at Ramiro.
But the Caerula is quick. Not quick enough to avoid the blade entirely, but enough so that it only sinks into the meat of his arm. But Nolan’s second blade finds a chest—
Just not Ramiro’s, as the man jerks Machias in front of him at the last second.
“Shit!” The heretic crumples. I launch myself onto the stone table and draw my sickles as most of the Caerula scramble to catch the box.
My blade takes one that doesn’t across the eyes, blinding them.
The next strike opens a man from gut to collarbone.
But we are surrounded, and this is going to get real ugly, real fast.
Nolan darts around the front of the table, brandishing a sword claimed from one of the injured men.
“Machias?” he screams as he cuts down another Caerula.
I have a clear view of the heretic, if not a good one. “Very dead.”
Rage flashes, Nolan’s next strike so brutal that it parts head from body. That’s enough to give the attacking Caerula pause, but only briefly. They’ve still got an advantage, especially if they can tighten ranks around us.
So we’re not going to let them.
I jump down beside Nolan, slashing. He deflects a blow and kicks, sending a body tumbling, giving us a chance to break free of the deadly ring and run.
The cave entrance isn’t far, but not as close as I’d like.
A slim figure suddenly appears alongside me.
I almost strike before realizing it’s Tychus.
He’s white as the salty walls around us, but miraculously unharmed.
Apparently, no one considered him much of a threat.
“Help me!” he cries.
“Stay close!”
I say it even though I know he won’t. He can’t. Nolan and I are too quick. By the time we plunge back into the tunnels, Tychus is already falling behind.
“Wait, please!”
I ignore him.
And then I don’t, my feet digging into stone. I spin in time to see him catching up, half a dozen Caerula on his heels. Not my favorite odds, but the tunnel is narrow enough that they’ll bottleneck. I raise my sickles.
Tychus grins with relief. And then jerks forward, an arrow punching its way out of his throat.
“Fucking fuck.” I’m moving again before his corpse hits the ground. “Nolan! Arrows!”
He’s already well ahead of me and I don’t expect him to stop, but he falters, glancing back as if he didn’t realize I wasn’t right behind him anymore.
I push to close the distance. He disappears around a turn, then reappears when I take it, flawlessly retracing our steps.
The Caerula fall behind, but not far. I can still hear their pursuit.
At least in the winding tunnels it’s hard to get a good shot at us.
Finally, I see night sky through the exit, framing Nolan.
He waited, just long enough to make sure I was still there.
It’s damn near touching. By the time I’m out of the cliffs, he’s mounted on Buttons.
I bolt that final distance, sparing only a second to cut Tychus’s horse free and give his rump a good slap so he can’t be used for pursuit.
Then I swing up onto Mortimer. The moment I’m seated a sharp line of pain pierces through my shoulder.
Nolan twists around as I cry out, then dodges as an arrow flies past his head.
Not from the tunnel. They’re somewhere above us on the cliffs.
“Go!” I dig my heels into Mortimer’s flanks.
Another arrow whistles by, kissing my cheek.
I ignore it, ignore the pain, focus only on Nolan’s back.
I sense more than hear the bolts streaking around me, and every second, I expect another one to find a kidney, a lung, the back of my skull.
Then, we are away from the cliffs, swallowed by the tree line.
I look back. There’s no one trailing yet, only the road, dappled in shadows.
But they’ll be coming. Nolan knows it too, and instead of following the path, he turns off into a break in the trees, taking us deeper into the foliage.
We keep moving for the better part of an hour, changing our path frequently, making sure that we have lost any possible pursuit.
Only when we break onto an open beach, a thin line of sand curving around the water like the blade of my sickles, do I reach for the arrow in my shoulder.
I wrench it free and toss it aside, grunting with the fresh pain.
It hurts like hell. But it’s nothing. Not to me. Not to the Chosen of Tempestra-Innara.
The wet, warm sensation of blood sheets down my side.
Well, maybe it’s a little something.
Nolan turns back. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” I laugh. No, I crow, ripping my hood back to release the sound. We’d walked into a trap—even if it wasn’t the one we’d anticipated—and walked right out again. I am almost giddy, though Tychus is dead. And Machias. Doesn’t matter, not right now.
We’re alive.
I have a moment more to savor that feeling before Mortimer suddenly slows, stumbling once before he goes down, pitching me forward into the sand.