by A. D. Winter
“The world is a cruel place,” he said. “It’s rare for a person with talent to get their time to shine. We must be grateful for the opportunities the goddess presents us with.”
“And you’re content with that?” I asked.
“Content would mean that I was happy,” he replied. “I think the better word would be acceptance.”
“I see.”
His answers seemed credible, and aside from a bit of emotion, he seemed to be on the level. Now I needed to shift my questioning. Now I needed to search for the answers I needed.
“Tell me what happened the other night,” I said. “And start from the beginning.”
“They came late in the night,” Crag said. “I heard them arguing outside with the grand duke. He wasn’t happy with what was going on. There seemed to be a misunderstanding of some sort.”
“What kind of misunderstanding?” I asked.
Crag shrugged. “I’m not sure. But the vampires were not happy. After a while, the grand duke told them to leave, and when they refused, he ordered his guards to escort them from the grounds.”
“But they wouldn’t go?” I asked.
“There were a lot of them,” Crag said, “which wouldn’t have been a problem. The grand duke’s guards are some of the best in Salvation. Unfortunately—”
“They had a shifter,” I said, remembering the bat from the great hall.
“Not only that,” Crag continued, “but there was someone with them.”
“Who?” I asked.
“A figure.”
“What figure?”
“A man in a hood.”
“Was it red?”
“You’ve seen him?” Crag asked.
“No,” I replied. But I keep hearing about him. “What about anyone else? Was there someone other than the vampires?”
“What do you mean?” Crag asked.
“Another figure? Another chosen?” I took a long breath before I continued. “An inquisitor?”
Crag’s eyes widened. “By Thor’s long beard, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
I waved away his concern. “It’s nothing. It could be false testimony.” I glanced back at Sophie. “I’m still not sure.”
Crag took a long sip from his glass. “If your superiors are involved in this, I fear it’s worse than I thought.”
“Let’s go back to the other night,” I said. “What happened next?”
“The guards were slaughtered, and the vampires entered the house.”
“And where were you when all of this was happening?” I asked.
“Trying to free the grand duke, of course.” His brow furrowed as he recounted those last, horrible moments. “I caught them at the top of the stairs. But there were too many of them. They ordered the shifter to take me into the ballroom and hang me up against the wall, where, as you saw for yourself, they had their little fun.” Crag glanced at his glass, about to take another swig, then set it aside.
“Did anyone besides you survive?”
He glanced back at Sophie. “No,” he said. “Unfortunately not.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He nodded.
From the bed came the sound of whimpering. Sophie was awake, and worse, she’d been listening to us the entire time. Crag reached back and began brushing her hair, his gaze lowering sadly to the floor.
“Had the grand duke hired anyone new into his service?” I asked. “A wizard? A potion maker? A warlock?”
Crag’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “A warlock?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. “Nothing I’ve been able to confirm … yet.”
“I hope you never do,” Crag said, seeming a bit relieved. “But no, to the best of my recollection, there were no new hirings. But there was a recent purchase.”
“Purchase?” I asked.
“A building,” he replied. “In the Industrial Quarter.”
“A factory?” Dryden asked.
Crag nodded.
“Can you take us there?” I asked.
He nodded again. “But I fear it may not be that easy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The vampires,” he said. “They could still be out there.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” I said.
He looked at me as if I were crazy.
“Just lead us to the factory,” I said. “And we’ll take care of the rest.”
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Crag said, “but if you think I’m going to lead you to the monsters who murdered my benefactor and just leave, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I thought you said he was a monster,” I reminded him.
“Monster or not,” Crag said. “It’s still a matter of honor. And such an offense cannot go unanswered.”
A dwarf indeed.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dryden said.
“Oh, yes, I do,” Crag said. “And that’s the last of it.”
“What about me?” Sophie bolted up from the stack of pillows, her face red from crying. “I’m going with you as well.”
“Out of the question,” Dryden said.
“Agreed.” Crag turned to face Sophie. “I can’t have you being in danger.”
“I am Sophie Laurent, descendant of—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Descendant of Pierre the First and all that mess. I’ve heard it before.”
“Then where am I to go?” she demanded. “Stay here by myself, defenseless, while strangers avenge the death of my family?”
“Sophie …” Crag began.
“She’s right,” I said. “She doesn’t have a place to go. The Thorns are still on the loose, and if the Order is compromised, which at this point I believe it is, I can’t turn her over to the authorities. From here on out, she comes with us.”
“Excuse me?” Crag wrapped his arm around the young princess.
“It’s the only way,” I said, and took a long swig of the Elven Sparkle. “But don’t worry—” a burp escaped my lips “—we’ll keep the little princess safe.” I shot the young princess a wink, and she quickly recoiled from the gesture.
“Very well,” Crag said, “but stay close. And do exactly as I bid.”
Sophie gave a reluctant nod.
“It’s settled, then.” I shot up from my seat, rubbing my hands together, and in my best mummer’s voice announced, “Now, take me to your lair of weapons, good dwarf, for I must arm myself for battle!”
The dwarf frowned. “What makes you think I have a weapons lair? Because I’m a dwarf?”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly ashamed by my assumption. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
But he burst out laughing, making me feel like an idiot. “Of course I have a weapons lair! I’m a dwarf, for Thor’s sake.”
The stout warrior led me into his closet. It was large and filled with some of the finest clothes I’d ever seen in my entire life. Silk dresses. Leather pants. Decorative florals. And the shoes! By the goddess’s slim waist, I wanted to live here!
But it was what he had hidden behind the wall of glamour that drew my attention.
I glanced over my shoulder, checking to see if Sophie was nearby. When I saw that we were alone, I picked up the leather paddle that was on the shelf and slapped my palm with it. “You’re a freak, Crag.”
“We all have our hobbies,” he replied.
I rested the paddle back on the shelf and looked around. There was something else, on the shelf next to it. Eyes wide in astonishment, I reached out for the big rubber—
“Careful with that, my dear.” Crag caught me by the wrist. “Some weapons are more dangerous than others.”
“Could I borrow some of this stuff some time?”
“Maybe later, my dear,” he said with a wink. “But first we must take care of business.”
He touched a button behind one of the panels, and the entire back wall opened, revealing a world of unimaginable treasure.
“Now this is what I’m talking about!
”
The room was large and replete with every weapon imaginable. Axes and swords, daggers and spears, shields and maces. All of it well crafted and glinting with shine. “If I were a man, I’d kiss you, Crag.”
“And if you were a man, I’d let you,” he replied.
I stepped into the dwarf’s lair, like a child walking into a candy store. Everywhere I looked, I saw amazing things. Yet as fantastic as the weapons were, it didn’t compare to what I saw in the back.
Hanging under a pair of torches was a giant war hammer. It was built with steel, and its handle was beautifully wrapped with leather. It was a weapon that only one species could wield.
“I knew it!” I said, swinging at the air like an excited idiot. “I knew you had one of these.”
“You like it, do ya?”
“Like it?” I whirled on the stout dwarf. “I want to have its babies.”
He marched over to the weapon and hefted it off the wall. “A family heirloom passed on from generation to generation, my dear.”
“It was your father’s?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “My father was never man enough to handle such a weapon. It was my mother’s.”
“A woman after my own heart.” I took the weapon from his hands, and it quickly thudded to the floor. “This thing weighs a ton.”
“A ton and a half, to be exact,” he said, lifting it easily with one hand. “But it’s mine.”
I crossed my arms and pouted. “Everyone always gets the good stuff, except for me.”
“What’s your poison, my dear?”
As an inquisitor, I’d been trained with every type of weapon imaginable. But the nunchucks were my favorite. Still, he had enough weapons here to keep me interested.
He lifted a mace that was covered in spikes and held it in the air.
I scrunched my nose and shook my head.
He grabbed a katana from the top shelf and smiled as he drew it from its scabbard.
“A little cliché, don’t you think?”
“Good point.” He cupped his chin as he thought. Finally his eyes grew wide. “Ah, I have just the thing!”
From one of the shelves, he drew out a hidden weapon, and I felt my heart begin to race.
“It belonged to my great-grandfather,” he said, glancing down at the double-headed battle-ax. “A magical weapon that he used to fend off the orcs at the Battle of Crispon.”
He handed the battle-ax over with a grin, and it felt like a pair of wings had sprouted out of my back. The blades were curved and sharp, and the handle had been wrapped with rough leather. It felt amazing!
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“It suits you.”
“Does it?” I spun around, anxious to get a look. “Do you have a mirror?”
“Over here!” He turned me around to face a full-length mirror, and I studied myself closely.
“How do I look?” I asked, lifting my chin and pulling back my shoulders.
“Like a goddess of war,” Crag said.
“I know, right? I think it brings out my eyes.”
“Your shoulders, my dear.”
“Those too!” I agreed.
“The young wizard won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”
“And what makes you think I care what he thinks?” I asked, hiding my emotion behind a mask of stone.
“Because he’s absolutely gorgeous and has a body to die for.”
“I know, right?” I began sulking like a kid who had just dropped her ice cream. “Argh, why does he have to be so hot?”
“There, there, my dear.” Crag rested a hand on my shoulder. “We all have our unicorns.”
This was dumb. My life was at stake, and the Thorns were threatening the whole of Salvation. And still, here I was, fixating over a gorgeous wizard who was clearly way out of my league.
Why did I even care? Even if I did survive this mess, I’d probably just end up as another notch on his staff.
It made me want to slap his stupidly handsome face and eat a gallon of fairy cream.
“Forget him, my dear,” Crag said. “We have vampires to smash.”
“You’re right,” I said, gripping the ax in my hands again. “Nothing calms the soul like a little action. Am I right?”
25
Malick
Malick was feeling exceptionally naughty as he levitated one of the factory workers into the air.
The young chosen screamed as she was lifted a good ten feet off the ground, and her legs kicked out as she cried for help.
But no one gave it to her.
They were smarter than that.
Chosen were no match for vampires, and they quickly hung their heads in shame as they continued to work faster.
“Now, now, brother,” Dorick said. “Surely you can do better than that.”
Malick let out a delicious smile as he sensed the presence of his twin brother. “Do I hear a wager?”
Dorick grinned. “Twenty gold to the one who can fit her through the chimney.”
The chosen glanced up at the tiny square in the ceiling, her mouth falling agape in terror. “No! Please! I don’t want to die.”
“Funny how they always say that,” Malick said.
“Indeed.” Dorick raised a hand, and the chosen suddenly sprang up another ten feet.
The vampires began to laugh, seeming enthralled by the display. But Malick gave them a sneer. He had never liked the nocturnal species and probably never would. They were too primal, too savage. But they had their uses.
“Enough.” The voice thundered through the air, causing Malick to wince in pain. He spun around and saw the tall, hooded figure he’d come to know as his master.
Behind him, the chosen plummeted through the air, her screams echoing through the factory until they were finally silenced by a loud thud. The vampires dived into the bloody mess and drank her blood before she could die.
“Looks like I won,” Dorick said with a grin.
“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself,” Malick muttered.
The Monarch seemed to glide as it moved toward him. Malick had never seen its face before, even when he’d had eyes, nor heard its real voice. But the power that emanated from its existence was enough to bring a chill to his skin.
Some said it was a powerful sorcerer, a member of the Minstrel’s own court who had marched with the Minstrel into the city of Salvation during the Dark Uprising. Others said it was a high-ranking inquisitor whose spirits made him nearly a god. Whatever it was, Malick could only imagine the sacrifice it had made to attain such power. As all knew, the greater the sacrifice, the greater the power.
“Master,” he said with a bow.
“How go the preparations?” the Monarch asked.
Malick shared a psychic glance with his brother, their worry evident in the constriction of their thoughts.
“The workers have been laboring all day,” Dorick said.
“And they have already finished half the potions,” Malick continued.
“Which is more than we expected,” added Dorick.
Malick shot out a psychic wave at his brother, frustrated by his insistence on always having the last word, and his brother quickly lowered his head, wincing from the pain.
“Your work is more than satisfactory,” the Monarch replied.
Malick felt a weight of pressure lift from his shoulders, and he instantly offered the Monarch another bow.
“But it’s not enough.”
Malick froze in his bow, fear gripping his cold heart. “Master?”
“According to my spies, the Order has already learned about our operation. Supposedly, there’s already an inquisitor on the case.”
Malick shared another psychic glance with his brother. “I’m sorry, master, but did you say ‘an inquisitor’? As in only one?”
The Monarch moved like the wind, and before he knew it, it was standing before him.
“Do not grow complacent on me now, warlock,” the Monarch whispered threateni
ngly.
Malick stilled as he felt the Monarch’s fingers grazing against the wires sewn into his eyelids. He couldn’t see it, but he sensed a deepening smile spreading across the shadow beneath its hood.
“The celebration is only hours away, and we must not fail the Listeners.”
Malick swallowed his fear and nodded. “Yes, Master.”
“Remember, Malick, much rests on the arrival of the potions. Do this well, and I’ll personally see to it that the Listeners learn of your success.”
Malick was riveted by the prospect, and a grin stretched across his face as he sensed the Monarch gliding from the room.
Soon he would unleash a terror upon the city, one that it had never known. And with it, he would prove himself worthy of the Minstrel’s notice.
26
Ivy
I stared out the window of our carriage at the gloomy sky of the Industrial Quarter and frowned.
Plumes of smoke were lifting from the chimneys of factories, eclipsing the sun, while workers dressed in rags and dirty clothes walked up and down the cobbled streets, clutching their hands before their chests as they struggled against the cold.
Everywhere I looked, I saw strife and sadness.
A pair of orcs walking with a couple of chosen noticed the carriage and glared up at us with empty eyes.
This could’ve been me, I thought. I could’ve been one of these poor souls dragging themselves to work with no prospects and no life beyond the few coins that were thrown to them after a full day’s work.
If not for Barton, that is.
I took a deep breath as I thought of the man, reflecting on everything he had done for me. Could he be the traitor? Was Nelson involved? I sat back in my seat, trying to hide my concern as Dryden steered us up the road.
The carriage felt cramped now that Crag had joined us. He took up the entire back seat, his wide frame covered in a silk shirt that was unbuttoned, allowing a thick patch of red hair to flare out.
He examined the gold cufflinks of his sleeves, making sure they were fastened, then brushed the ends of his eyebrows with a finger, pressing down any stray hairs. “One never knows when the love of one’s life might be watching, my dear,” he said, like a doting governess.