She wondered what they’d done to the security guards. Clenching her teeth, she readied her gun.
“You have to wait for the critical moment,” Rone’s voice whispered.
Swallowing, she glanced back at Rone, only to find empty shadows.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Where had he gone? She frantically searched the shadows for his form.
Something clamored near the back of the workroom.
“We know you’re in here, Sandis. Engel.” The gruff voice was Staps’s. Sandis’s fingers shook. She hunkered behind the table and set her barrel atop it. Flexed her fingers. The critical moment.
Please, Celestial, forgive me for hurting them.
And please, don’t let me shoot Rone by mistake.
The lamplight moved away from her and toward the sound, though one grafter still stood atop the scaffolding, surveying.
“You!” another man shouted, but it was followed by a choking sound and something metal striking something soft. Sandis winced. The surveying grafter fired his gun. The bullet ricocheted off a machine—she saw the spark.
“Two o’clock!” the surveyor shouted.
Warmth pressed against Sandis’s forehead. Ireth . . . but she couldn’t use him this time. She closed her eyes, sharpening her focus and intent, even as grafter footsteps thundered toward the surveyor’s destination. Toward Rone.
Opening her eyes, Sandis pointed her rifle’s front sight toward the surveyor and fired.
She cranked her lever. Heard someone shout her name, nine o’clock. Two more gunshots echoed through the space.
She fired again, the rifle’s kick burning her shoulder.
One of the lamps dropped and extinguished.
She cranked her lever.
A hand grabbed the back of her dress and yanked her down just as a return bullet whizzed past her hair.
“You’re amazing,” Rone whispered, grabbing the other rifle. “Ahead!”
Sandis popped back over the table. A shadow moved.
She fired, and it dropped. Another shadow; Sandis shifted to the left and fired again, but missed. These rifles only held four shots, so she took Rone’s and cranked the lever, hearing the double click as the bullet entered its chamber.
It had been four years, but she still knew these firearms like she did her own script.
Rone swept away again to punch, kick, whatever he did with the lingering grafters. Three of them were down, though Ravis could come back at any time.
A window broke somewhere, the shattering glass piercing her ears like a scream. Something hit the closest machine and made it ring like a heavy gong.
Then Rone was there, grabbing her shoulders. “Run, run, run.” He pulled her onto her feet and dragged her toward the newly shattered window. An exit. He must have remembered she had no shoes, since he scooped her up into his arms before pushing through the frame. A triangle of glass caught on his shirt and tore it.
Sandis gripped her rifle as she became weightless. Her body jerked with Rone’s when he hit the street. He grunted and ran to the end of the factory before setting her down.
A police whistle blew. As far as the oncoming scarlets were concerned, Sandis and Rone were just as guilty as the mobsmen and grafters.
Sticking his fingers into a dip in the cobbles, Rone opened a manhole.
“Hold your breath,” he said.
Sandis gripped the gun in her hands. She finally had one, with three shots left. The water would ruin it.
“Sandis!”
Gripping the barrel, Sandis jumped into the darkness.
She lost the rifle in the current.
Chapter 17
Rone set a tray of bread, cheese, and apples on the small table in the room he’d rented that morning. It was a pricier establishment, unlike the holes he typically chose—when meeting a woman didn’t escalate into running for his life—but he figured grafters would be less likely to look for them here. With luck, they were still reeling from Rone’s thorough beatings and the holes Sandis had put in them.
Rone dropped into the sole chair in the room—it was a single room, which made it cheaper and all around easier to protect. Sandis popped over to the food and smelled the bread like it was ecstasy in loaf form. Despite her obvious hunger, when she tore off the heel, she offered it first to him.
Rone waved it away.
She frowned. “You’re hungry. Eat it.”
He frowned back, looking at the food clutched in Sandis’s thin, almost elegant fingers. She had a weirdly hopeful look on her face, like a refusal would break her heart. He snatched the bread, still warm from the oven, and took a too-large bite that pressed against his windpipe when he swallowed.
The vast space around the bread in his belly made him realize how long it’d been since he’d eaten, so he took another bite, then a third. The chewing started a headache, though the pain was more likely from lack of sleep than anything else. Rone was used to sleeping in, not snoozing on the run.
After he swallowed again, he said, “I’m going to Gerech today.”
Sandis perked up, half an apple slice sticking out of her mouth. She crunched down, shoved it against her cheek, and said, “Your mother? Will they let you visit?”
No. “Maybe. I’ve got to see what I can do. Figure out who’s in charge of visitors and what he takes for bribes.” He leaned forward and turned the bread over in his hands. “And get another job. I’m almost out on the money front. This isn’t helping.”
Sandis’s hand paused on the way to a cheese curd.
He shook his head. “Eat. We both need the energy.”
She hesitantly picked up the morsel. Pinched it between her fingers. “Can I help? Can I . . . do . . . something?”
“You can stay here. I’m faster on my own. You’ll be safe.” He stood and moved to the window, peering out from behind its yellow curtains. This was a very yellow establishment, he noticed. A poor attempt at cheer in the cesspool that was Dresberg. “They won’t attack a place of this size. Not in the day, especially. And it should take Kazen a while to regroup his men.”
“He doesn’t need men.”
Rone dropped the curtain and looked at her. She still had that cheese in her hands. But she looked up and smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, but at least it was a smile.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay here. I’ll . . . make the bed. And fold the laundry.”
The laundry was already folded and on the edge of bed, thanks to the in-house maid who gracefully hadn’t asked why it all smelled like fecal water or why Rone had paid her to find them new clothes. Popping the cheese into her mouth, Sandis walked to the bed and pushed the laundry onto the floor. “Yes, I’ll fold it.”
Rone smiled. He couldn’t help it. He tore another piece from the diminishing loaf on the table. “I’ll go now. The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back. We’ll figure out something.”
“Thank you.”
Through a mouthful of bread, he said, “Stop thanking me.”
She smiled. A sincere one this time. With that smile and the light coming in through the pleated curtains, she looked like something ethereal. A strong reminder of why Rone had ever approached her in the first place. His thoughts started to turn—they were presently alone and safe, and her skin looked so soft. And she cared about him. She’d said as much, after the mess in the alley. She was an enigma. So different from the occasional woman who warmed his bed only to disappear from his life the next morning. Different, too, from old colleagues and friends like Kurtz. Different from his mother. Very different from his mother.
And while you’re thinking all this, your mother is slowly rotting in prison.
That thought snapped his mind into order. He shook his head, shaking off his desires and questions like dust. Now wasn’t the time. Now was just . . . temporary.
He grabbed his wallet from his bag and slipped out the door without saying goodbye.
It took a long time to get to Gerech Prison. Maybe because it was far awa
y, and this wasteland city was enormous. Maybe because Rone was tired, and his joints felt like they’d aged fifty years overnight. Maybe because, deep down, he knew this mission was going to be fruitless.
He reached the iron bars that caged in the prison clerk. Different from the one he’d spoken to before.
“Paying a visit” was all he said.
The clerk, an older man with a long face, flipped open a heavy book. Rone tried not to notice how many entries had been blacked out in it. “Name?”
“Adalia Comf.”
He turned the sticky pages with aggravating slowness. Dragged the tip of his index finger down one until it settled on his mother’s entry. “She is”—he paused—“oh. Not seeing visitors. Her visit was expended on the warden.”
Rone growled and pulled out his paperwork. “I’m her son. I need to see her.”
Legally, he knew he had no grounds. One visit had been allowed, and he had used it on his meeting with the warden.
The clerk looked over his paperwork. “I’m sorry, but the rights for this prisoner have expired. Where did you get these?”
From a filing clerk who takes low bribes. Rone countered with a question of his own. “How much will it cost to make them viable?”
The clerk pressed his lips together, considering. Ultimately, he shook his head. “Good day, sir.” He closed the book. “Next.”
It wasn’t a surprise, but Rone’s muscles quivered with restrained rage as he stepped away from the window—but not away from the prison. No, he followed the wall under the watch of all those eyes until he almost got to the door. Almost. He didn’t dare bribe guards who were trusted with the actual door.
He stood in front of two men with rifles strung to their belts on one side, sabers on the other, and a thin club in the front. One raised his eyebrow. The other folded his arms.
They were both about Rone’s age. For all he knew, he’d gone to church with them.
Keeping his back to the city, he pulled out his dwindling wad of cash and started counting bills. “Adalia Comf is in sector G for thievery. Getting additional punishment from a rich man. I’d like to see her treated well.”
The first guard narrowed his eyes. The second reached out his hand. Rone stuck half the wad in it. Seeing his companion being paid, the first gave in and took his share.
With nothing left to say, Rone turned for the street.
“Hey.”
He looked back. The second guard had spoken.
His face looked grim. “I have a shift in sector G. I know her. Nice lady.”
Rone’s pulse sped.
The guard shook his head. “It’s not going well for her, but we’ll do what we can.”
His heart nearly stopped. He forced his stiff neck to nod his head. Found some reserve of strength to move his legs. He half limped toward the main road. Remembered to breathe at some point, and the air burned his throat on its way in.
He couldn’t keep entertaining Sandis’s fantasies about finding a benevolent, rich uncle who’d help them both. A job. He needed another job. He’d take anything, even if it went against his rules. He’d kill a triumvirate member if it meant getting his mother out of prison. Not like the politicians were doing anything to improve this hellish place.
His hand clutched the amarinth until his fingers bruised, but he felt utterly powerless.
Rone’s first stop was his mother’s flat. The one he was still paying rent on. The one he’d get her back into somehow. His mother was a frugal woman; she might have something stowed away. If nothing else, there were the trinkets Rone always got her on her birthday. Those would fetch a few kol.
He knew something was wrong before he reached the door. The window was broken.
Cursing, he hurried inside, noting that the door was unlocked and the door frame had seen better days. Inside, the place was a mess.
Ransacked.
“Damn your god to hell!” he shouted, running through the first room to the bedroom. His mother’s jewelry, gone. That stupid glass lily, gone. The silverware, gone. Nothing left to sell.
“You were supposed to take care of her!” He picked up a chair in the kitchen and threw it across the room. “You preach love and charity, yet your own vows mean nothing to you! We mean nothing!”
He grabbed another chair and hurled it, cracking a window and snapping off one of the chair’s legs in the process. He grabbed fistfuls of hair and fell over the counter, the wooden countertop biting his elbows. Breathing hard, Rone shut his eyes, trying to temper the black hate gagging him. Hate for his father, and hate for himself.
He nearly ripped out his hair when he stood. Marched for the door. Slammed it shut. Locked it.
It was a good thing Sandis was the one who could summon Ireth. If he could set fire to all of Dresberg, he would.
He usually checked his “hire sites” at night, when he was less likely to be seen. But every extra hour his mother spent in that prison brought her closer to death.
At least it’s not winter, he told himself as he headed for Goldstone’s Bank. At least the guard seemed sympathetic. He’ll help her. He’ll help her.
The broken lantern behind the bank was just that—a broken lantern. No note, no coordinates for a meeting. No signs.
He turned right around and caught the back of a wagon carrying leathers. Rode it directly to his next spot—another manhole lid. He picked it up, ignoring the endless people walking around him. Nothing had been fastened underneath.
Engel Verlad only advertised through word of mouth. The city’s best criminals and wealthy elite had all heard of him by now, but there were six different drop-off sites he used. Six different places potential clients could leave a message to request his services. There were four more he could check. They were not close.
Rone slammed the manhole cover back into place and pushed through the crowd, oblivious and uncaring of whose toes he stepped on or whose balance he threw off. He jogged until he found a building with a fire ladder he could climb to its roof.
On to District Three.
The sun was threatening to set when he made it to location four. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rone had slow periods, yes, but individual jobs paid so well it usually didn’t affect him. Before now, he’d never needed exorbitant amounts of money.
He crouched in an alley—a surprisingly clean one—and hung his head, struggling to think. His brain was cobwebs and black ashes. His whole body hurt and begged for sleep. He was going to be very, very sore tomorrow.
And he was hungry, which reminded him of how little he had at the moment.
Groaning, Rone stood and counted the small amount of cash he’d reserved for himself. And Sandis. They needed supplies if they were going to stay on the run. Rone needed to ask around for flats for rent; they could bum off the empty spaces for free until a payer came along. It would keep them moving, and keep the grafters guessing.
Or you can walk away and not look back. Hedge his bets and sell the amarinth, bribe or threaten the warden to get his mother out of Gerech, and vanish. Maybe he should follow Sandis’s advice and hitch a ride on a wagon headed out into the country. Sleep in some farmer’s barn at night and pick his corn during the day. Live a poor, boring, safe life, taking care of his mother until her time came.
“You have a responsibility,” Kurtz had said. But hadn’t he satisfied his responsibility by bringing Sandis to the Lily Tower? He had become one of Kazen’s targets, too, but he didn’t have to be. A man couldn’t hit a target he couldn’t find. And the guy was old. Rone could go out to the country for a decade or so, then come back to the city, and . . .
Shut up. Just . . . shut up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking to the closest store before it closed. He could leave, yes. He would . . . eventually. But not now. Not when Sandis said “thank you” in that way she did. Not when she was waiting for him.
The time would come when they’d go their separate ways.
But it hadn’t come yet.
Chapter 18
Gerech was some ways away, wasn’t it? Rone hadn’t said how long he’d be gone. It might be all day. All night. He hadn’t told her how long they were going to stay at this inn.
Sandis began to fret as the sun started its descent. What if the grafters had followed them here and were simply waiting for nightfall? What if they’d gone after Rone? Kazen hadn’t been at the factory. He would still be out looking for them. She had a hard time believing their chase had ended at Helderschmidt’s.
She worried her lip as she stared out the window. Surely she’d see Rone’s silhouette bounding over the rooftops at any moment. He’d jump down this way and scare her. She leaned closer to the window in anticipation, but of course he didn’t come. Frowning, she glanced at the door. It had only opened once since Rone left, and that was the maid coming by to ask for lunch requests. Sandis had asked for simple bread and butter. She hated costing Rone money. She didn’t wish to be a burden. Someday, soon, she wouldn’t be.
Contrary to her thoughts, she smiled. Rone was so kind to her. She couldn’t have asked for a better ally. She hadn’t expected to have one, especially not someone like—
Heat crept into her ears. She pressed her fingertips into them until the skin cooled. The sensation made her wonder, what would have happened had she not stolen his amarinth that day? What sort of payment had he had in mind?
She shook her head. Regardless, if not for Rone, Kazen would have grabbed her a long time ago.
A shiver coursed through her at the thought of the grafters’ underground lair. She wondered what the other vessels thought of Kazen’s hunt for her. Especially Alys and Rist, who had seen her since. Rist didn’t usually care much about anything, but Alys did. Did she feel betrayed? Had Kaili taken care of her, as Sandis had hoped? Relief that Alys hadn’t been hurt by the bursting steam valve still pricked cool tingles on the underside of her skin. Sandis would never have forgiven herself if she’d caused the young girl such pain.
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