Chapter 13 Rorin #2
It’s laughable for her council to expect me to return without their true sovereign. I know they were against my going at first, but with Felix remaining at the helm, I figured they’d be happy. I’m a Vellaran after all, they didn’t want me in charge in the first place.
I look over at Will, his hand is threaded through his sandy, cropped hair, and he looks ready to explode.
“What does Felix say. Or Armond?” I ask desperately.
“They’ve both offered to take your place here.”
Unbelievable. They had the chance to come with me. But as extra companions, at no point was there ever an option that I entertained that included me staying behind, playing the role of dutiful king.
“I made a promise to bring her back.”
Will scoffs, his hands flopping down to his sides. “You’re impossible.”
I shrug. He can be angry with me all he wants; I’m not going back to Obsidian without her at my side. I will not return a second time queenless; we can’t afford for that to happen again.
“Does Armond plan to stay back if I don’t return? Or is he going to join us anytime soon?” I leave the question open to either one of them, and Will looks at me incredulously, like he can’t possibly believe I am changing the topic.
“Uh–ha. No, he said he will stay put and be there at the portal for when we have her. He doesn’t think it’s wise for us to trek back to Obsidian on foot, and I am inclined to agree.”
My head bobs up and down. It was risky getting the Consulate involved, alerting anyone to the fact that we were here and why, considering Baelor has his spies lurking all over this realm was risky.
But the quicker we get back behind our lines with Eveera and the…
princess – who, for all I know, is one of his spies – the better.
Glancing over at her, I see her chair-bound inside of Millie’s shield. Her head hangs between her shoulders with a defeated expression painted clearly on her face. Pathetic choice in spy, I think to myself before returning to the conversation at hand.
Where Pruella looks defeated – Millie looks nervous, Max’s head shaking slightly at her.
“Millicent…” I pry, her eyes dart up to me and then back to Max, who shakes his head again. “Millie–”
“Max and I are thinking of returning early.” She blurts, and her co-dependent slouches back into his chair, sighing. Her palm slaps over her mouth, shocked at her words, before giving us a sheepish smile. “It just seemed easier if we brought the princess back to Obsidian.”
Will’s brow cocks, and he leans forward, “easier on who?”
“All of us. This isn’t exactly a functional system we have here. You and Max already crossed off your assignment, Bennett and Rorin are still… looking,” she doesn’t meet my eyes when she says it, “and if we’re being honest? I have doubts about her safety here.”
“And she’ll be safer in enemy territory?” Will’s voice rises.
She glares at him and his snarky tone, her arms folding tight across her chest. “Probably… not once… Eveera gets there,” she rushes, “BUT– we will, I will. You know, the person saddled with watching her all of the time? It was just a thought.” She finishes.
I purse my lips together, my men and I sharing a look before Bennett sucks in a deep breath, and the five of us move on to developing a plan for the night. While they talk, I mull over the demand from Eveera’s council and Millie’s bright idea to leave Suram early.
Both are things I don’t like. And while I’m unsure of Millie’s full motives, there’s a clear underlying warning from the council. And it has nothing to do with me being present in Obsidian to rule, but all to do with the kingdom not appearing vulnerable.
The message is obvious: you’ve run out of time.
Felix has done all he can to placate them thus far, but the reality is – for the better part of the year, he’s been the sole frontman, and her people are starting to notice. She’s become invisible to them, and while that may be normal for the rest of the realm, it certainly isn’t for them.
And the last thing her court needs is an uprising from the people.
Max opted out of staying with Millie and the princess tonight, choosing to join Bennett and my search. A search that led us back to the tavern I stumbled out of this morning.
The three of us elbow our way through the now overcrowded bar, piling into an empty booth at the back.
A barmaid pushes through the horde, dropping off a handful of ales with us. Bennett passes them around, and Max takes a whiff, scrunching his nose at the potent liquor.
“Lighten up, Max.” Bennett teases, clanking his mug with Max’s, the liquid sloshing out and onto the table.
“Oops.” He mutters, taking a deep swig of the copper colored drink.
We follow suit, the bitter drink clawing its way down, Bennett erupting in a cough.
“Ah–oh…kay well, cross Suram off the list for ‘knows how to make good ale’ because that is…” he coughs again, pointing his finger at the mug, “special.”
“It’s not the best,” I admit, “but it sure as hell knows how to get you pissed.”
Bennett snorts into his cup, and Max grumbles, “we’re not here to get pissed” before taking a second drink.
I incline my head in agreement and resume my people watching. It’s moments like these I wish my Wield were a little more useful. Eveera’s tendrils could seek out someone’s guilt and fear like a bloodhound. And an ability like that would be incredibly useful in my hunt.
“Why did we choose this place again? Spending the night here last night wasn’t enough time?” Max quips.
I lift my brows, and choke down another drink, “ach! Had a gut feeling.” I tip my cup forward, angling it towards the two people I’d noticed on the street at the start of their night. While the two of them thought we were striking out, I was trailing after these characters.
Bennett and Max’s heads swivel to where I’m gesturing. Tucked in an alcove, we watch as the small, cloaked individual reaches over to slip a small parcel into the breast pocket of their taller companion.
The latter bends down to mutter in the former’s ear, shaking his hand before slipping back into the crowd. A smile crawls up my face, setting my mug down on the table, “him.” I say quickly, sliding out from the booth.
“How did you even…” Bennett trails off, the two of them rushing after me, as I push through the swarm of drunken patrons.
The man darts out of the tavern, moving briskly down the thin alleyway that the three of us have to break into a run to catch up. Within a few wide steps, I close the distance and close onto their hood, whipping their body around until I can shove them against the side of the bar.
“What’d you give them?” I demand. The man looks up, eyes wide as he shakes his head, his words lost to him. “Come on, don’t make me force it out of you.”
“Uh… Uh..” He stutters.
I sigh, adjusting my grip so that I can unsheath my knife and press it snugly underneath his chin.
“What were you selling in the tavern, hmm?” He squeaks out another sound, but it’s nothing coherent.
“Is it yours, or are you just the lackey delivering the shit?” I snap.
His head bobs up and down frantically, and my brows lift.
I pull my knife away, lowering it from his throat to his collarbone. “Show me.”
“Wha-what?” He finally manages.
Must I spell out everything for these people?
“Show me where and who the stash came from.”
He holds his breath, not wanting to agree to my demand. But, for obvious reasons, he concedes. I drop the hold I have on his hood, and both of his knees buckle. My arms catching him before he hits the ground. He whimpers an awkward thanks before taking the lead.
We wind our way through the maze of dark alleys, and after a few “wrong turns”, he stops us in front of a dingy door.
The man flinches as the door creaks and hesitates before continuing. Whoever’s behind this door obviously wants no part in us meeting.
We push past him, the three of us stepping inside the cramped hallway, following after him as he walks us back towards another heavily rusted door. His hand comes up, signaling for us to stay back as he lifts his fist to it.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
It takes a few minutes before the door groans open, the thick, heady scent of opium wafting out. “Is anyone even alive in there?” Bennett coughs quietly, waving a hand in front of his face.
I step up and grip the man by his cloak hood, “we’ll take it from here.” I say, grinning widely as I drag him along.
“Who the fuck is bother–” The chair set in the center of the room swivels around, revealing a large, agitated man.
He’s dressed the same as the rest of Sabel, in a mixture of brown fabrics and metal gear.
A singular goggle is fixed to where his left eye should be, a jagged scar running underneath it.
His lips quirk at the corner, revealing dark and crooked teeth as he sneers.
“Well, well, what do we have here, eh? Curtis – care to explain how the fucking hell you got yourself in this position?”
The runner whimpers under my grip. “I’m afraid he is a bystander.” I answer for him.
“Oh?”
I nod, “we really came here for you. This man,” I lift Curtis onto his tiptoes, and chuck him down at the dealer’s feet, “was merely our guide.”
The man reclines back into his chair, hands clasped and resting on his protruding gut. “And what can I help you with? Need a little fix of your own?”
My head shakes, and I take a wide step towards his desk. “No. No, see what I need are answers.” Closing the distance, I brace my palms on the edge of his desk and lean forward. “Tonics.”
“Got several. What about them?” He answers casually.
I cock my head, “what kinds?”
“What kind are you looking for?” His beady eyes glint in the amber glow of the room.
I rise back to my full height, and clasp my arms behind my back, and slide my dagger out from underneath my sleeve and into my palm. “Magic binding.”
The druglord’s eyes bulge, and he shoves up and out of his seat. “Who sent you here?” He asks hotly.