by Linde, K. A.
“It’s better that you don’t. It’s dangerous.”
“Just because I don’t have magic doesn’t mean I’m not capable,” Clover snapped.
“I didn’t say that,” Kerrigan said quickly. “But I’d worry about you.”
Clover shrugged. “No sweat.”
“Clove, don’t.” She hated when she got defensive and retreated away from her.
“Dragons up, baby,” she said dismissively. “Come see me tonight after the weapons deal.”
“I will,” Kerrigan agreed and watched as Clover disappeared through her door.
Kerrigan ground her teeth together. That hadn’t gone how she’d wanted, but she really didn’t have time. She needed to get Fordham and get the hell out of here.
She changed into all black before heading down the competitors’ corridor. Many of the doors were open, and she glimpsed a few of competitors stretching or congregating, a few laughing together. Friends. They were friends here.
She ached for that. Darby and Hadrian had moved in with their new homes far away in the city. She missed their easy company and even Lyam interrupting them for his antics. She missed it all.
She swallowed back a lump in her throat and passed Audria’s room. She was inside, lying on her bed. Roake stood sentinel-like at the entrance. His eyes found hers, and they turned cold.
“What are you doing here again?” he asked.
“Just finding Fordham,” she muttered, uncertain of his enmity.
“Yeah, and what exactly are you two always doing together?” He suggestively raised his eyebrows, and her face flushed.
“They’re training,” Audria cut in. “Or haven’t you noticed, Roake?”
He looked back at Audria, and Kerrigan saw his whole face relax. She could see the blatant desire there.
“Why are you training with the dark Fae?” Roake asked.
“Leave her be,” Audria said. “No need to harass her for information.”
Even though she had done the same thing a few nights ago.
“Good luck tomorrow,” she told them both and then hurried away.
She knocked once on Fordham’s door.
When he didn’t reply, she entered without thinking. He sat at the small wooden desk. Papers were strewn in front of him. All of them littered with verses. She could see the rubbish bin was full of crumpled papers, discarded poems that hadn’t met his standard.
His head jerked up when she entered. His eyes were raw and open and intense. That darkness had leaked out of him and onto the pages. They bled with his sinister energy. But as soon as he realized who stood before him, he began clearing the papers away.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, the edge still tight in his voice
She swallowed. She felt as if she had intruded upon a moment for him and didn’t know how to fix it. Before she could speak, her eyes snagged on a black envelope with gold lettering on the dresser. She picked it up and inspected it, knowing what it was before it revealed itself.
“What’s this?” she asked.
His eyes flickered to her in confusion. “A party invitation.” He waved his hand away as he continued shoving papers aside. “We get a bunch of them.”
She said nothing as she put the invitation back—an invitation to her father’s tournament party.
“You had a reason for being here…” Fordham prompted, drawing her away from the letter.
“Right. Dozan,” she croaked. “He… sent a note. A weapons deal is happening at midnight. If we want to find out who they sold that knife to, we have to go now.”
“Tonight?” he hissed.
She nodded.
“But tomorrow is the tournament.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to go without me if I don’t go, aren’t you?”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “Probably.”
He finished tucking away all the bleeding pages and hid the contents in a drawer before straightening to his considerable height. He snatched a cloak off a hook and then tipped his head at her. “Then, let’s go.”
* * *
They were only a half-mile from the address Dozan had given her when the skies opened up. Dark, heavy clouds had been lingering for two days straight. She had hoped they would hold off for the tournament tomorrow. But no luck. None at all. Rain fell in a deluge, soaking through their clothes and chilling the night air.
“This is madness,” Kerrigan grumbled.
“You’re the one who wanted to come out here.”
“Then why are you out here with me?”
He said nothing, and with the rain, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Not that he was particularly expressive in the first place. Maybe it was Audria’s warning, or the visions and talk with Gelryn, or Clover’s questions, but she couldn’t let it go.
She yanked Fordham to a stop under an alcove. “Why are you helping me?”
“Do we have to do this right now?”
“The first time, you said it would make us even. But now? There’s no reason for you to help me anymore.”
He just stared at her, his dark eyes intent and irritated. “Why must there be a motivation?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense,” she yelled over the pounding rain. “Look, I’m glad for your help. I even appreciate the training… despite cursing you in my head.”
“Not just in your head.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I hate running. But I just don’t get it, Fordham. I don’t understand why you’re helping me.”
“You don’t trust me,” he said simply.
She gulped. No, she didn’t. With everything going on, trusting him felt supremely dangerous and supremely stupid.
“Should I?”
He just nodded, his jaw set. She could almost feel him retreat away from her. “That’s good. It’s safer if you don’t trust me.”
“It still doesn’t explain…”
“There’s someone out there killing humans, half-Fae, and sympathizers. I want to meet them and congratulate them,” he hissed, spreading his arms wide. “Is that what you want to hear? What you expect from me?”
His voice was laced with venom, and it took everything in her not to step back.
“I didn’t say that,” she whispered. The wind caught her voice and whipped it away.
“You didn’t have to,” he accused. “You are the one who has stuck your nose into my business since day one. I did not seek you out. Perhaps it is you who has ulterior motives.”
She cringed. Her motives were not innocent, but she couldn’t tell him about the visions.
“How about this? We finish this mission, and you never have to see me again.” Then, he barreled back out into the rampaging storm.
Kerrigan cursed and dashed after him. His strides were long and measured. She had to jog to keep up with him. She’d never realized how much he slowed his prowl to accommodate her.
“That’s not what I want,” she gasped, reaching out and gripping his elbow.
“Unhand me, halfling,” he said, lethally cold.
She yelped and released him. “I’m sorry, Fordham,” she blurted. “I’m sorry, okay? What everyone else has been saying got in my head. I’m not used to anyone helping me for no reason. Everyone has an angle. Everyone wants something. This… I didn’t expect this.”
Slowly, the anger that had unfurled from him was washed away by the storm. “I didn’t expect this either.”
They stared at each and something sparked that hadn’t been there before. She’d always found him attractive. She’d just never allowed herself to go past that. She hadn’t wanted to think beyond that. He was dangerous and deadly and yet…he was protecting her. And he’d gotten mad at her accusations. Her heart thudded in time with the pounding rain and felt the tension grow taut between them.
Finally he nodded. She released her breath, and they continued forward in silence.
The address was an old flattop building that might have once housed food stores. The brick facade wa
s crumbling, half of the windows were broken and boarded up, and the front doorway had scorch marks on it. The entire thing looked like one stiff breeze would bring it tumbling down. It was either the perfect place for an illicit weapons deal or a death sentence.
They scouted the surrounding area and found four of Rahllins’ lackeys watching the building. One in front of a ladder that led to the roof. Fordham pointed upward, and she bit her lip but acquiesced. As quick as lightning, Fordham stepped forward, choking the air out of the man’s lungs to keep him silent and then putting his fist to the man’s temple. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
She helped him haul the man deep into the shadows before scaling the rain-slicked, rickety ladder. Fordham went first, and she trailed behind, none too pleased with the creak of the wood. The roof was paper-thin with loose boards littering the top and a giant hole near the entrance, where the fire had burned through. It was in even worse shape than she had anticipated.
Without a word, Fordham gestured to the hole, and they crawled forward on their bellies to the edge. She took a small breath and then leaned over the edge to peer down into the dimly lit room below.
A half-dozen men stood on one side behind a woman with raven hair and alabaster skin. There was no doubt in her mind that this was Clare Rahllins. Any minute, she might transform into a raven herself and fly away, so close was the likeness, even from a distance. Across from Clare stood two men and a woman along with a full wagon of covered supplies. Another dozen stood guard around the weapons wagon.
The rain had gone from a flood to a drizzle, but Kerrigan still couldn’t hear what anyone was saying.
“We need to get closer,” she whispered to Fordham.
He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask how the hell they were going to do that.
She shrugged and inched out a little further. It would be beneficial to have some sort of advanced hearing, but even Fae couldn’t hear that acutely. She had no hope. She tried desperately to make out what Clare was saying.
Crack.
The boards beneath them splintered. She looked at Fordham with wide, panicked eyes before the roof gave way, and they plummeted.
29
The Weapons Deal
Kerrigan woke tied to a chair.
She struggled against the chafing bonds, but there was no escape. Her chest, arms, and legs were bound so tightly that she could barely breathe, let alone get out of the constraints. Her head hurt like… well, like she’d just fallen through a roof. She had no concept of how much time had passed since then, only that the room was now empty, save for Fordham, who was passed out beside her, and a guard with his arms crossed, drifting off into space.
A warehouse. A length of rope. Well, that part of her vision hadn’t been particularly useful. It would have been nice to know what the warehouse and rope were going to be used for.
“Fordham,” she hissed, low and urgent.
But he didn’t move an inch. Just sat there with his head back, eyes closed. Very much knocked out.
“Looks like someone is finally awake,” the guard said.
Then he disappeared through the door, and a few minutes later, a woman with raven hair that fell like a waterfall over one eye entered. She was even more beautiful in person. Skin the color of milk and her one visible eye so blue, as if plucked straight out of the ocean. She wore black leather from head to toe and had so much steel on her, she would have dropped like a stone in the sea.
“Well, well, well,” she said in a slow, concentrated drawl. Her accent was thick, like those from the north. “What do we have here?”
“Hello,” Kerrigan said, hoping for chipper. “It appears there has been a mistake.”
“A mistake?” the woman said, chewing on her words. “Yes, there has been a mistake.” A knife appeared in her hand as if out of thin air, and it tipped Kerrigan’s chin up. “You made the mistake of crossing Clare Rahllins.”
“Clare… who?” she asked innocently, widening her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And I might have believed you, pretty thing,” Clare said, “but for him.”
“Him?”
“He is a competitor. That means you must work for the Society,” Clare said. “You are here on their business. What do they want with Clare Rahllins?”
The woman was mad. She was referring to herself in the third person, and Kerrigan didn’t know how to get out of this one. The last thing she wanted was to get sliced open over a botched weapons deal. She had only been there to find out who they were selling to in hopes of getting a lead on her assassin.
“I really don’t want anything with anyone,” Kerrigan said hopefully. “If you could untie me, we could go about this in a civilized manner.”
Clare snorted. “Civilized?” She wrenched back her black hair, revealing the side of her face that had been concealed. Her left eye was missing, and a scar ran from the edge of the empty socket across to her ear, which was mangled.
The only sign of distress that escaped Kerrigan was a small intake of breath. Clare had clearly shown her this to shock her. And Kerrigan was shocked—that she would hide it. Clare was stunning. All full lips and arched eyebrows and high cheekbones. The scar was just a part of her, and it made her more complete, if less symmetrical.
But who was Kerrigan kidding? She hid her ears all the time. Anything that could create enmity was a thing to hide… though not be ashamed of.
“Yes, please, civilized.” She smiled brightly.
Smack.
Kerrigan cried out as Clare’s fist connected with her face. Her nose was broken… again. Scales!
“How is that for civilized?” Clare spat, straightening.
Kerrigan couldn’t even bring her hand to her nose or stanch the bleeding. The blood flowed freely down her face and coated the front of her shirt. Her face throbbed. What had she gotten herself into now?
Clare flicked her head at one of the guards nearby. He hefted a bucket and threw the contents into Fordham’s face. He came to, sputtering and coughing.
“What the hell?” he spat out.
“Hello, darling,” Clare crooned, twirling a knife again. “Thank you for joining us.”
Fordham blinked rapidly, expelling the last of the water from his storm-gray eyes. He took in everything around himself in a matter of seconds—the binding, Clare, and Kerrigan beside him, bleeding.
“We fell through the roof,” he said simply.
“Ah, so you do speak. That’s a relief. This one,” she said, pointing her knife at Kerrigan and nicking her jaw, “likes to play dumb.”
Kerrigan grunted at the new pain and wrenched her head back.
“I’m not here to play dumb,” Fordham said, icy cold. “But I will have to retaliate if you do not untie us immediately.”
Clare raised an eyebrow. “Not bloody likely.”
Fordham glared at her. “You’ll regret this.”
“You’re in the tournament, and you think I’m dumb enough to tie you up without slipping you some dampening drugs?”
Kerrigan’s face paled. “That’s illegal!”
Clare quirked a half-smile at her. “Thanks for the tip, sugar.”
Fordham strained against his ropes, and Kerrigan could practically feel him trying to access his magic, but nothing happened. No black smoke. No fierce elemental abilities. Nothing.
Kerrigan swallowed down her fear and reached for her own powers, hoping that Clare had been stupid enough not to dampen her. To see Kerrigan’s slight ears and not find her a threat. But no, when she dove down into her well of energy, there was… nothing. The emptiness made her want to vomit all over the walls. There was a reason magic-dampening drugs were illegal. Removing magic from magical users was like severing a limb. People went insane from it… most couldn’t even stomach living. Suicide occurred at a severely high rate.
“What do you want with us?” Kerrigan asked , trying to ignore the yawning chasm within her.
“Want? Nothing. Y
ou were the ones spying on Clare Rahllins,” Clare said, pointing the knife at her own chest. “It’s your turn to tell me who sent you.”
“No one sent us,” Fordham spat.
Clare nodded at the guard. He punched Fordham in his face, cracking hard against that chiseled cheekbone. He grunted as the man pummeled him in the chest and stomach.
“Stop!” Kerrigan cried. “Stop it! No one sent us! We’re telling the truth.”
Clare flicked her blade. “If no one sent you, then why were you spying?”
“We weren’t spying.”
She tipped her head again, and the guard came toward Kerrigan. She froze, caught in a trap. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t tell this woman that she was trying to find out who had attempted to kill her. That an assassin with a knife bearing the raven sigil had attacked her. She would surely kill her to finish the work for the person. It might be better to let Clare think that they were here for the Society. At least then they could extract information from them. But she didn’t want to get hit. Not again.
Not again.
“Please no,” she whispered.
But the man didn’t even balk at her whispered words. He just came for her. His first hit was clean, right to her temple. Her vision blurred and wavered. Everything swam. The second knocked into her stomach, and the air whooshed out of her lungs.
She coughed and sputtered, spitting blood on the floor.
“Rahllins,” a man said, stepping in the room and momentarily halting the beating.
“You dare interrupt!”
“It’s just that the delivery to Black House was interrupted.”
Black House. Kerrigan swallowed down blood, just thinking about the name of the haunted mansion. What could possibly be delivered there?
Clare growled. “You stay here and work on the interrogation. I’ll deal with them.”
Clare stormed from the room, ignoring Fordham’s shouts of protest. The weasel-faced man stepped inside. For a moment, Kerrigan thought he might be better than having Clare, the vicious snake, but she was wrong.
“Now, why did the Society send you?” he asked, dragging over a stool and staring between the two. “Why is the Society taking an interest in our weapons? What member is in charge of this?”