Into The Crooked Place

by Alexandra Christo

  Tavia’s smile was wistful. “You remember.”

  Truthfully, Wesley remembered everything anyone ever said to him, but he especially remembered everything to do with Tavia. Once someone was under your skin, there was no getting them out.

  He knew he should move past it, but Wesley had pushed aside every part of his old self and he wanted to keep just this one thing. When Tavia left Creije, that would be the end of it. He’d never see her again and sooner or later—sooner for her, probably, and later for him—they would forget each other.

  Wesley would be a Kingpin and Tavia would be a nomad and, just like his family, maybe one day they’d pass each other in the street and she wouldn’t recognize him and he wouldn’t let himself recognize her.

  He knew they weren’t destined to be anything other than temporary allies, existing alongside each other until the world gave her the means to do otherwise.

  But for now, while he could, Wesley wanted to remember everything.

  “Do you ever think about that time, a few years back, when we were running from the amityguards?” he asked. “We got trapped in that dead-end alley by the bridge.”

  Tavia snorted. “No blades. Not even defense magic or something to make them lose sight of us for a minute.”

  “Nothing but a shoddy transmutation charm.”

  “Many Gods,” Tavia said, her eyes newly alight with mischief. “We used it to walk through the first wall we saw.”

  “And straight into a brothel,” Wesley said.

  Tavia burst into a wide grin. “The looks on our faces must have been priceless.” She was barely able to contain her laughter. “I’ve never seen so many naked people.”

  “I like to think we carried the shock well,” Wesley said. “Besides, it was better than being sent to the cells. The old underboss would’ve beaten us to a pulp if we got snapped by the amityguards.”

  “Especially if it was because we were stupid enough to run out of magic,” Tavia said. “I suppose that isn’t something you have to worry about anymore.” She looked to Wesley, the smile still fresh on her lips. “Do you feel different having Crafter powers?”

  Wesley lifted his chin so that she could appraise him. “Do I look different?”

  “You don’t want me to tell you what you look like.”

  “Guess I’m pretty enough to render you speechless,” he said.

  Tavia pulled a face. “You’re definitely carrying Crafter power. The ego is a prerequisite. I swear, it explains so much about Saxony.”

  “You’ll miss it when you’re in Volo,” Wesley said. “Just like you’ll miss having so much magic. I bet the busking scene over there is lousy.”

  “I’ll have to find another profession.”

  Tavia bit her lip, like she was putting a lot of thought into what that could be. Neither of them had been in any business outside of magic.

  “Maybe I could do something that doesn’t require me almost getting killed five days out of the week,” she said.

  “Sounds boring.”

  “I was shooting for normal.”

  Wesley shrugged. “That’s what I said. Either way, you’ll have more free time if you’re not busy patching up your battle wounds.”

  “Doesn’t mean much if the old ones have already scarred.”

  “Scars fade,” Wesley said.

  Tavia’s smile wavered. “Not all of them.”

  Though Wesley knew she wasn’t just talking about physical scars, he couldn’t help but look down at her hand. True enough, there were knife marks across her knuckles, some stretching to her wrists in defensive crisscrosses.

  His throat tightened.

  Wesley thought back to the nights they had busked together, trading charms and staying up until morning. They had combined technology with magic and created something from nothing as though they were Crafters. Then he remembered all the times he hadn’t been there, too busy climbing the ranks and earning the underboss’s trust.

  Wesley wondered how many of Tavia’s scars he could have stopped if he stayed on the streets by her side.

  Tavia didn’t need saving. He knew that. She wasn’t his best busker because she got scared easily, but if Wesley had stuck by her, then maybe Tavia would have changed her mind about wanting to leave.

  It was a selfish thing to think, but Wesley was always selfish when it came to Tavia.

  That was how he knew he was a bastard.

  Not because he headed up Creije’s branch of the black magic market and not because of all the things he had done to get blood on his hands, but because of Tavia. Because he cared about her and let her care about him back.

  That was what made Wesley the biggest bastard of all.

  He placed his hand on top of Tavia’s, hiding the cuts and scrapes as though that would fix anything.

  She stiffened but Wesley stayed still, staring at his hand on hers, wondering who would walk away first.

  One of them always walked away.

  “For the underboss of Creije, you really are not that scary,” a voice said.

  Tavia’s hand shot into her pocket and Wesley’s stomach tightened.

  He leaned over the train’s edge to face the new arrival.

  Arjun looked more like an asshole than Wesley ever had, from the sheathed four-bladed sword, down to the smirk that made up his face. Behind him, Karam stood with a smile and at least a few dozen of the Grankan Crafters.

  “I suppose your reputation is all talk?” Arjun said, staring up at him.

  Wesley jumped down onto the riverbank, landing with catlike grace. “You go your whole life without seeing a Crafter and suddenly there’s a horde of them at your feet,” he said.

  Tavia landed beside him and propped up her hood. “Infestations usually work that way.”

  “As opposed to plagues,” Arjun said.

  Wesley tensed. He was getting a little tired of people comparing his business to a disease.

  “Everyone but Doyen Schulze deals in the underrealm,” he said. “Even your holier-than-thou Grankans. I’m not some illusive devil who has the corner on magic markets.”

  “I am not debating morals with a murderer,” Arjun said.

  “Just semantics, then.”

  Arjun sneered. “You’re a con artist.”

  “But an artist all the same.”

  “You make a living on other people’s backs,” Arjun said.

  Wesley smiled. “I mostly make a killing. What are you all doing here anyway?”

  Arjun practically puffed out his chest. “We are coming with you,” he said.

  Wesley tried to keep his face even. “I thought your Liege wasn’t going to give us any help. Especially after the Loj made you go all murder-hungry on one of my people.”

  Arjun cleared his throat, looking like he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt with the idea that Karam was one of Wesley’s people. And doing a damn awful job at it.

  “Asees is wise and her decision to stay is understandable,” Arjun said. “But there are those of us who do not agree it is the only path to take.”

  It was a very diplomatic way of saying that he was ignoring orders.

  “So she’s just going to let you leave with us?” Wesley asked. “Taking half of her Kin with you?”

  “We have made our own decision,” Arjun said. “We will not let more Crafters fall prey to Kingpins and their dark magic.”

  “So you snuck out with your fellow rebels to come see the big bad underboss.” Wesley was almost impressed. “I guess you being a traitor works out great for me.”

  Arjun practically snarled.

  He clearly did not appreciate that last part.

  “You listen to me, underboss,” he said, stepping forward menacingly. “Just because we are agreeing to fight in this war, it does not mean we are allegiant to you. We are here because our people are in danger and once we help free every Crafter your Kingpin has, we will leave you in the dust.”

  Wesley smirked.

  Two minutes and he alre
ady had Arjun sussed out.

  Stubbornly righteous, loyal to a fault—because loyalty was always a fault—and carrying a weight his shoulders were too inexperienced to bear.

  “And maybe it won’t just be us,” Arjun said. “Maybe all of your precious buskers will abandon you. Without a real threat like Ashwood, there is no need for them to stay.”

  He glanced over to Tavia and something inside Wesley simmered.

  “Criminals are not known for their loyalty,” Arjun said.

  Wesley didn’t kid himself into thinking he had many virtues, but if there was one he always thought he possessed without a doubt, then it was patience.

  But that had just about worn.

  “Once Ashwood is gone, I’ll be the new Kingpin,” Wesley said. “So who’s to say I won’t just pick up where he left off? Crafters and all.”

  Arjun’s hand shot out faster than predicted.

  A burst of white, which Wesley soon realized was lightning, hurtled for him. He dropped his shoulder and the beam crashed into the water.

  If Wesley turned out to have Spiritcrafter powers, he’d make a mental note to learn that one.

  Arjun raised his blade and Wesley quickly lifted his hand. He clenched it to a fist and his new magic dragged Arjun toward him. The Crafter froze inches from Wesley’s face, struggling against the vice that held him there.

  Wesley stretched out his other hand and the magic propelled Tavia’s knife from her pocket and into his palm.

  He pressed it against Arjun’s throat.

  “Let him go!” Saxony said, running out from one of the carriages.

  Karam was beside her and Wesley could see her hands dangerously close to her own knife.

  “He is the second in command for his Kin,” Karam said. “Who are all surrounding you.”

  True enough, out of the corner of Wesley’s eye, the Grankans gathered.

  They sneered at Wesley and he felt their magic burning through him, but his buskers were there too and they were always spoiling for a fight.

  “I’ll let him go as soon as we come to an understanding.”

  “You will do it now,” Arjun said.

  Wesley inclined his head to the side, watching Arjun’s face change, taking in the different shades of defiance, like it was a work of art.

  “Wesley.” Tavia was by his side, her voice a warning bell. “Don’t do something that will screw over the huge opportunity we just got.”

  Wesley took his eyes off Arjun to look at her, but it was a stupid move. The lull in his attention gave his magic pause and Arjun took the opportunity to bring his head forward and crack it awkwardly against Wesley’s lip.

  Wesley tasted blood in his mouth.

  He seized Arjun’s collar. “Now can I kill him?” Wesley asked.

  But Arjun was already swinging his fist, catching Wesley in the jaw.

  Wesley winced and brought his elbow down hard on Arjun’s nose. The Crafter stumbled back, blinking away the dizziness, and then collapsed onto the riverbank.

  He may have been a Crafter, but he was no underboss.

  Arjun shook his head and made to push himself up.

  Damn, Wesley thought. He’s got guts.

  He kicked Arjun’s hands out from under him.

  “Enough,” Karam said. She knelt by Arjun’s side.

  Tavia pushed herself in front of Wesley before he could strike again. “Quit being such an idiot.”

  Her hand pressed against Wesley’s chest and he wondered if she could feel his heartbeat. He wondered if he still had one.

  “If you’re not careful, you’re going to start a war with the wrong people before we even reach Ashwood,” Tavia hissed. “Arjun’s on our side now.”

  Wesley shrugged. “He also started it. It was a fair fight.”

  Many Gods he sounded like a child.

  From across the way, Saxony glared at him. “You’ve never fought fair in your life. All you do is take what isn’t yours.”

  Wesley’s clenched his jaw.

  And all Saxony ever did was speak to him like he was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. For what? He’d been nothing but an ally to her. To all of them.

  “You think that just because we’re not in Creije there isn’t a pecking order,” Wesley said, loud enough for everyone to hear, Crafters and buskers alike. “But I only have limited goodwill and it’s wearing thin. The next time anyone comes at me, whether it’s with magic or a side-eye, then I’m going to start living up to my reputation. Skjla?”

  The Grankans scoffed indignantly but said nothing. Even Saxony, whose lips shook as she tried to hold in whatever spell or curse she wanted to throw at him.

  Wesley waited a few seconds to see if she would anyway, but Saxony stayed silent, her eyes burning. She needed him if she was going to get to the Kingpin and Wesley knew it. If any of them were going to get what they wanted, they had to work together.

  They had to be a team.

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” he said.

  Saxony shook her head. “I’ll never understand you.”

  But Wesley could live with that.

  Everyone else might have been in this for a noble cause, but Wesley was in it for an empire. To protect the one he’d created and forge an even greater one in its place. Maybe sentimentality crept up on him sometimes, the urge to keep Tavia safe like an old habit, but that didn’t change anything.

  They may have been about to save the realm, but there was no saving him.

  And now that Wesley had true magic, there was no stopping him either.

  KARAM SPENT MOST OF HER time training the crew on how not to die.

  They had spent a week on the train, crossing endless waters to reach Ejm Voten, following the map Saxony traced from her mind. Their army was split, with the buskers they had gathered from Creije on one side and the Grankan Kin on the other.

  The buskers were versed in violence and the Crafters were versed in all manner of magic they had never seen, and so their army, haphazardly flung together, mortal enemies in another life—and in this one too—became mentors for each other.

  On the days Karam headed things up, the Crafters were split into groups and assigned a busker to school them in hand-to-hand combat. On the days in between, Saxony and Arjun took the lead, and the Crafters played teacher to the chosen crooks of Creije, giving them access to new magic and showing the best way to use it as a weapon.

  It was a hard thing to do cramped within the confines of a train, but the supply carriages were large enough to provide a worthy enough arena.

  “Was this what you had in mind when you wanted to be a protector?” Arjun asked.

  Karam heard the carriage door close behind him.

  She continued wrapping her fists, preparing for the day of training ahead. When she finally turned to him, she saw that he was shirtless, too many staves to count inked on his skin. All the magic he had conquered and created, bound to him forever.

  She understood taking pride in his accomplishments, but she wished he could do it with his clothes on.

  “I’m saving the realms, aren’t I?” Karam said. It felt good to speak in the holy language again. “I’d say I’m fulfilling the duties of the Rekhi d’Rihsni pretty well.”

  Arjun looked at her in the same way that a disappointed older brother might. He still hadn’t forgiven her for leaving Granka and while Karam understood that, acting as though she had failed her childhood self was something she couldn’t quite get behind. Maybe this wasn’t the future she had anticipated, but taking down a Kingpin and rescuing Crafters wasn’t a bad course to be on.

  It was still honoring the ways of the Rekhi d’Rihsni.

  “You wanted to save the realms from people like Wesley. Not work alongside him,” Arjun said.

  Karam raised an eyebrow. “Look who’s talking.”

  At this, Arjun smiled, though it wasn’t the wide grin Karam remembered. It was stiff and a little resentful.

  “I felt betrayed when y
ou didn’t come back,” he said. “When you left me to pursue our dream on your own.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Karam said. “Mete and Pehta—”

  “I know what your parents are like. You forget, I’ve known them longer than you.”

  Karam tensed with the truth of it.

  All the years she was gone, Arjun had remained. He saw her mete buy fruit from the markets and had, perhaps, been witness when her father spoke his last words.

  Arjun was part of the family Karam had left behind and it hurt her to realize they had gone on being a family in her absence.

  “I cursed your name to the spirits every night,” Arjun said. “I told myself you could’ve taken me with you if you planned to stay away. That we could’ve run and been warriors together. We could’ve been brother and sister against the realms.”

  He looked back at Karam and she noticed how the teera wrapped around his head had the same golden hue as his eyes. It made the color look sad.

  “I know that’s not true,” Arjun said. “I’m glad you left me behind.”

  Karam shook her head. “I didn’t see it that way. Only that I wouldn’t be able to breathe if I stayed and that all I’d become would’ve been unmade if I returned.”

  “And I would’ve died if I left,” Arjun said. “The realms are dangerous for Crafters, and for the reckless boy I was, it would have been deadly. When you left, it taught me to trust nobody and never let my guard down. Crafters can only rely on ourselves.”

  Karam didn’t think that sounded like a good thing.

  “I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Arjun said. “I don’t resent you. After all these years, I’m happy to see you, Karam.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  Arjun placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. This close, she could see the echo of the elixir’s mark on his neck.

  “I am glad,” he said. “But it would be foolish to leave words unsaid between us while we have the chance to make things right.”

  Karam took Arjun’s hand in hers. “If we’re being honest,” she said, “then I should tell you how embarrassing it was to watch you get beaten by an underboss with novice Crafter magic.”

  Arjun laughed. Glorious and loud and Karam’s heart swelled with the sound. She saw the boy of her childhood again. Her brother. Her friend.