Chapter 15 #3
Clearing his throat, Tobias rose from his seat. “I have to go. I promised Sabine I’d dust the bedding.” He gave Naomi a firm kiss on the temple. “Be good.”
“Don’t kiss me with that mouth! I know where it’s been.”
Tobias chuckled, swatting at his sister’s slappy hands before leaving Leila with a wink. Snatching up one last pastry, he left the kitchen, less-than-eager to partake in his chores.
Footsteps pitter-pattered behind him, and Raphael appeared at his side. “Isa didn’t agree to the plan, did they?”
Tobias’s jaw flexed. “Not exactly.”
“Yet the palace staff is still on their way?”
“Leila is our queen. Her word is law.” He wound down an adjacent corridor, checking for prying eyes before continuing. “She doesn’t need Isa’s approval.”
“It’s a wise move,” Raphael said, trailing behind him. “The only option, really. Leila’s plan was met with protest. She made an executive decision. What else was there to do?”
“Exactly.”
“It appears as though the plan is falling into place.” Raphael reached Tobias’s side and kept his pace. “When the two of you first presented this rescue mission, I thought you were dooming us to die, but it seems you have some idea of what you’re doing after all.”
Tobias scoffed, “Such high praise.”
“It’s a compliment.”
“Your brand of flattery could use some work.”
“Artist!”
They spun in place toward the voice. Ladon was running their way, clinging to his half-laced pants as they crept down his hips. “Artist.” He skidded to a stop, fighting to catch his breath. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Keep your voice down.” Raphael glanced from side to side. “We’re in hiding.”
“One of my clients . . .” Ladon sucked in a shallow breath. “One of my clients said something. Something important.” He hung his head, panting. “Shit. Give me a moment. This place has so many stairs.”
“What is it?” Tobias said.
“Soldiers are thinning.” Ladon stood upright, regaining composure. “There have been fewer patrols as of late.”
“That’s good, right?”
“There are coverts in town—bounty hunters keen to capitalize on your capture.” Ladon’s dark eyes went wide, lit with fear. “They’re making their way through every shop, every inn, and they’re searching for you.”
Tobias’s throat sealed shut. The brothel had begun to feel comfortable, even safe. He knew better than to allow that. Their sanctuary would be infiltrated in a matter of days, if not hours, and Leila and his family would be at the mercy of Brontes.
“That’s it,” Raphael said. “We’re leaving.”
“No.” Tobias spoke before he could second guess himself. He gave Ladon’s hand a firm shake. “Thank you for this. I’ll handle it.”
He headed for the stairwell without parting, sickness roiling in his belly. There wasn’t time to strategize, and even if there was, he knew deep down that only one solution was viable—a task that sat heavily in his chest, threatening to crush him.
Raphael followed him, his voice hovering over Tobias’s shoulder. “How exactly are you going to handle this?”
“Simple.” Tobias tore into his chamber, pushing past the quaking of his insides. “I’m going to kill the coverts.”
“What?” Raphael stopped short, standing aghast in the doorway. “How?”
“I’m going into town.” Tobias threw his cloak over his shoulders. “I’ll find them, and I’ll kill them.”
“Tobias, they’re searching for you specifically. This is suicide.”
“What other choice do I have?” he growled. “We leave, and the members of Leila’s staff die one by one. We stay here, and the coverts find us, and we die together.” The dread in his stomach twisted as he strapped a blade to each of his thighs. “But if I go, either I kill them all—”
“Or they kill you.”
Raphael’s words reverberated in Tobias’s gut. He turned to face him. “Either way, the rest of you are safe, and Leila is free to find Her army. Can you think of any other options? Because I can’t.”
Silence. Raphael stared back at Tobias, frame still and expression blank. “Fuck.”
Fuck is right. Plunging headfirst into danger and searching for killers disguised as civilians was the last thing he wanted.
But then Leila, his mother, his sister, and even Raphael floated through his mind, and his heart swelled and lurched.
He couldn’t lead these coverts to them. If risking his hide was the only way to keep them safe, then self-preservation be damned. He sheathed his sword.
“I’ll come with you.”
Tobias sighed. “Raphael.”
“I know.” Raphael shook his head. “I knew it was stupid before I even finished saying it.” His eyes flitted between Tobias’s weapons. “What can I do?”
Leila. Naomi. My mother. He could see them again in his mind’s eye. “Take care of them. Keep them safe.”
“Naomi’s herbs are boiling as we speak.”
“Thank you.” Tobias made his way to the door, then stopped short. “I know it’s not what you wanted . . . that we’re not utilizing your skills . . .”
“It’s fine,” Raphael said. “It’s nice, actually. Being needed in a different way. People don’t usually find me very adept at care.”
“Haven’t a clue why.”
Raphael scowled. “Oh, fuck off.”
Tobias chuckled past the fear rattling his bones, shoving Raphael’s shoulder before heading down the corridor.
He wound through the space, hurrying down staircases until the brothel’s entryway opened up around him.
Arranging his hood and cowl, he kept his head low as he charged past moaning and thrusting, the smell of wine and sweat heavy in the air.
The double doors appeared ahead, and he pushed them open, the sun’s rays blasting over him.
Sand crunched beneath his sandals, a soft scream as he made his way down the road.
The southern humidity was particularly smothering, the bodies around him like swarms of locusts.
How naked he was, despite the cloak draping his shoulders and cowl hoisted over his nose.
Surely no one would recognize him by his gaze alone, but it was hard to feel at ease with his name plastered across each shopfront.
TOBIAS KAYA
FUGITIVE
Pigs stinking of shit grunted from the back of a cart.
Tobias wasn’t particularly comfortable with swine since the Sovereign’s Tournament, but he lingered behind them, hoping their smell would keep the masses far from his path.
Countless people stretched into the distance, and he searched their faces—the robust woman, curly-haired and armed with an axe, sitting in front of the butchery, the shorter man in the brown cloak standing across the road, face hidden behind a cowl not unlike Tobias’s.
Everyone appeared so . . . ordinary. He cursed under his breath.
How was he to find these coverts when they looked just like everybody else?
A barley vendor barked something about a lower price for bulk purchases, and while Tobias feigned interest, his eyes continued to wander.
There—two more cloaked men, one tall, the other stout, leaned against a shopfront, hands resting over their hips conspicuously, as if they were concealing weapons.
They whispered to one another—perhaps about Tobias.
They weren’t looking his way, but he couldn’t help studying them, scanning for a hint of silver.
A scream cut through the air. An older woman tumbled out of a shopfront, her hair streaked grey much like his mother’s. She toppled onto the road as two armored soldiers followed. They laughed uproariously with chalices in hand, their uneven footing revealing their drunken stupor.
The woman scrambled to her feet, and Tobias flinched when one of the soldiers slapped her.
Wailing, the woman cowered, and the second soldier scooped her up with his free hand, sloshing the contents of his chalice down her arm.
He fumbled with her apron, searching and prodding, while the whole town stood frozen, spectators to the woman’s pain.
Grunting, the soldier ripped something from the woman’s waist—a worn, flat purse—then tossed her aside, leaving her strewn across the road, an afterthought compared to the paltry coin she carried. Still, the townspeople did nothing.
Tobias did nothing.
A slow growing flame spread down his throat, his chest, his fists.
“Are you buying?” the barley vendor barked.
Tobias abandoned the cart, keeping pace with the pounding of his heart.
The soldiers teetered through the road, splitting the throng of townsfolk down the middle as if the air they breathed was a contagion.
All the while Tobias trailed them, tracing their stumbling figures with his glare, obeying the savage impulse within.
The woman fell to the ground repeatedly behind his eyes—eyes that were on the purse dangling from the soldier’s belt.
There couldn’t have been more than five coins in there.
When the soldiers skittered down the back alleyway of a watering hole, Tobias grabbed his blade from its sheath and followed.
Their guffaws echoed off the plaster walls, nonsense from where Tobias stood.
He didn’t bother to hide himself as they were lost in their senseless prattle, too drunk to notice or care.
The first soldier had his back toward Tobias, hunched over in a belly laugh.
Tobias ducked low, slashing behind his knees.
The soldier cried out, buckling beneath his weight and straight into Tobias’s arms. Tobias held the man firm and whipped his blade across his throat.
Stupefied, the second soldier fumbled for his spear, and Tobias used the bungle to his advantage, kicking him to his hands and knees.
Something poisonous boiled within him. He drew his sword, slamming it deep into the soft spot between the soldier’s neck and shoulder—a quick kill, piercing his heart and slicing his innards in two.
Leila had taught him that, and he’d found it oddly impressive, inspired by Her unapologetic readiness to spill blood.