by Claire Frank
Rhis put her hands on the rail and looked out over the water. “I have to try. I can arrange to meet somewhere neutral. There’s a safe house outside Altia; he wouldn’t dare have me killed there. I’ll find out what it would take to get the contract lifted. Everything has a price.”
“And if you can’t pay it?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. But at least you and Asher won’t be caught up in this anymore.”
“Are you saying you want to leave us behind?” Rickson said.
Rhis couldn’t look at his face. “If I go to Senlas with you, Athon is going to follow. He’s behind us now, but what happens when we come to the river? Your ship can’t travel upriver, and we’ll have to disembark. He’ll catch up with us once we’re on land. But, if I go on without you, you can take Asher to Senlas without the threat of that bounty hunter at your back.”
Rickson chuckled and she whipped her face around to look at him.
“Are you laughing at me?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned, and he adjusted the wide collar of his shirt. “No, I’m not laughing at you. But if you think the Maiden can’t travel upriver, I have a little surprise for you.”
He nodded her toward his cabin and called to two of his crew. “Harris, Declan, come on back here.”
Rhis looked back at him as they walked into his cabin. “An audience? Really, Rickson, that’s a bit much.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Go ahead, men, show her.”
She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms as the men walked over to the far side of his spacious cabin. Rickson had numerous chests and wardrobes, most full of his extensive collection of clothing. The men moved a chest aside, then opened a panel in the floor revealing the sound of rushing water. Rhis wandered over and looked down into the hole.
Two large wooden wheels spanned most of the width of the ship. Water flowed past them but as the two men held out their hands above the openings, the wheels dipped lower and began to turn.
Rhis looked up at Rickson and nodded toward his two men. “Are they what I think they are?”
“Wielders?” Rickson said with a wicked grin. “No, of course not. That would be illegal. They would be subject to the Guild.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment. Rhis had never understood the Empire’s stance on Wielders. In Thaya, and even more so in nearby Halthas, Wielders were as common as rain in spring, but the Empire was staunch in their control of people who showed any glimmer of ability. Even though Rickson was a smuggler, and obviously had no qualms about bending the law, she was surprised to see him take it this far. Harboring Wielders was a grave offense, one that could see him hanged if he were caught.
“Those wheels drop down and Harris and Declan here work their magic to turn them. As long as the river is deep enough, the current won’t matter—and even then we’ve gotten the Maiden through some tight spaces before. We’ll bring her upriver faster than you’d believe. Ewan will take us as far north as the Maiden will go, then sail back to sea by a different route. We’ll leave Athon far behind.”
Rhis shook her head. “You are full of surprises, Captain Rickson.”
With a quick lift of his eyebrows, he grinned again, and Rhis couldn’t help but smile. “Sweetheart,” he said, “you have no idea.”
TWENTY-THREE: ATHON
Athon leaned back in his chair, running a finger along the rim of his cup. The town perched on the edge of the river might have had a name, but he didn’t care enough to remember it. Just another unimportant sprawl of hovels, the sad occupants scraping by with lives that hardly mattered. Or so it seemed to Athon. The innkeeper’s friendly smile had died when he saw the glint of Athon’s metal hand, but hadn’t asked him to leave. The food had been bland and the wine little better, but he could hardly expect more in this backward corner of the world.
His ship was tied up at a pier near the mouth of the river. He’d watched the Wanton Maiden sail toward land and, to his surprise, it did not stop, but continued on up the channel. By the time he had arrived the next day, the wind was gone, the river’s current swift, and the Maiden was completely lost to sight. Without a change in the wind’s direction, he had no way of following.
He ground his teeth together; a serving girl glanced his direction and squeaked before darting away. Captain Rickson apparently had more tricks up his sleeve than Athon had expected. Although the assassin was the one he wanted, Athon would teach that smug captain some respect before this was through.
Athon looked up as the door opened and a man in a gray cloak swept in. His face was shaved clean, his clothing well-tailored and neat down to his expensive-looking boots. He immediately laid eyes on Athon and made his way over to the table.
“May I?” the man asked.
Athon hesitated. The man was clearly a Gray Cloak, a member of one of the three wings of the Guild. Known for being particularly staunch in their beliefs, the Gray Cloaks were part clergy, part enforcers. It was said their chain of command led to the Emperor himself; the Emperor had created their order centuries ago to control Wielders in Attalon. Regardless of their origins, Gray Cloaks were widely feared. Athon shifted in his seat. The Gray Cloaks didn’t concern him, despite the suspicious way they usually eyed his arm. He’d brought in more than one bounty to their Guild houses, usually strong Wielders who had managed to evade their clutches.
“Very well,” Athon said, gesturing to the chair.
The Gray Cloak took his seat and rested an arm on the table. “Athon, I presume?”
“The same. And you are?”
“Brother Sigg,” he said.
“Is there something I can do for you, Brother Sigg?”
Sigg raised his eyebrows. “I think our paths have crossed for a reason. If I’m not mistaken, you have been following a certain ship—the Wanton Maiden?”
“I’m not sure how my business is any of yours,” Athon said.
“Because our purposes align,” Sigg said.
“How so?”
“You seek the bounty on the woman, Rhisia Sen. I admit, I would prefer to get my hands on the bitch myself but, in the interest of cooperation, I’ll be willing to leave her to you.”
“Then who is it you’re after?” Athon asked.
“Captain Rickson,” Sigg said. “And the boy.”
“Why?”
Sigg pressed his lips together and worked his jaw, staring at Athon for a long moment. “Rickson and the Sen woman abducted the boy, and burned down a large portion of the Guild house in Varale. I want Rickson for obvious reasons. I’ll be taking him back to Varale and publicly hanging him. The boy was picked up under suspicion of being a Wielder. We haven’t yet had the opportunity to test him properly. He needs to come with me.”
Athon tapped his metal fingers against the table, his eyes locked on Sigg. There was something about this Gray Cloak he didn’t care for. His clothes were too fine, and Athon saw a hint of gold jewelry beneath his cloak. They were supposed to be pious men, believers in the Emperor’s divinity, and the control of Wielders. Athon’s past interactions with the Guild had been all business. He’d found who they were looking for and brought them in for a fee. This was starting to feel as if Sigg wanted to strike some sort of deal, and that was not the way Athon did business.
“I have my own quarrel with Rickson, but if you’ll be taking him to Varale for a hanging, I can live with that,” Athon said. “The boy is meaningless. I’m being paid for Rhisia Sen. Is that what you want? Assurance that we aren’t competing for the same quarry?”
“In part,” Sigg said. “You aren’t the sort of man one wants to cross, and I suspect you wouldn’t welcome the Gray Cloaks’ interference in your business.”
“Is that a threat?” Athon said, keeping his voice calm.
“Not at all,” Sigg said. “It is simply the way of the world.”
“Very well, then. We understand each other.” Athon looked away, expecting Sigg to get up and leave. The Gray Cloak, however, leaned back in his cha
ir.
“This Captain Rickson, however, is proving to be rather difficult to catch,” Sigg said. “I was thrown off their trail for several days until they turned up in Elbian. And his ship is fast. I’ve had a difficult time tracking them.”
“What do you want?” Athon asked, his irritation rising. The Gray Cloak needed to get to the point before Athon’s patience ran out.
“Since the prizes we seek are all aboard the same ship, I thought perhaps we could work together.”
“I don’t work well with others.”
“Indeed,” Sigg said. “But you are obviously adept at tracking your targets. You haven’t developed such a reputation without cause, I’m sure.”
“You want to tag along while I track Sen, so you can swoop in alongside and take her companions,” Athon said. “I can see the appeal from your point of view, but there’s nothing in it for me.”
“Not so,” Sigg said, holding up a finger. “You have your talents, but I have resources you don’t. The local Guild chapters in this area could prove extremely useful in apprehending our objectives, and sending a message to alert them is as easy as the flight of a bird.”
Athon reached up with his metal hand and scratched his cheek. Sigg’s eyes twitched, betraying only a hint of discomfort at seeing Athon’s silver fingers. The Gray Cloak did have a point. If Sigg could mobilize the Guild in the area, it would increase the chances of capturing Sen before Athon lost track of her completely. Not that he was concerned about failing to complete the job. He always caught his quarry. It was simply a matter of timing. He didn’t like delays.
“Very well. We hunt together. For now,” Athon said and a smile spread across Sigg’s face. “Sen is mine; I don’t care what you do with the others.”
“Excellent news,” Sigg said. “You’ve made a wise choice. I’ll prepare the messages and have them sent off. We can reconvene in the morning.”
Athon gave him a single nod and Sigg rose from the table and left. It wasn’t his usual approach, but Sigg’s involvement had potential. And after the incident outside Elbian, he wouldn’t be sorry to hear that Captain Rickson had been dealt with. The captain wasn’t his target, however, and he needed to keep his focus on Sen. He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. A few days, at most, and he’d have her in chains. Even the Reaper’s Bride wasn’t immune to his prowess.
TWENTY-FOUR: BLACK MAISEFLOWER
A hum of noise surrounded Rhis as she walked through the marketplace with Rickson and Asher. Despite the sun, she kept her hood raised, her face hidden in shadow. She hadn’t seen any notices pinned up in the riverside city where they’d disembarked from the Maiden, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Her back prickled and she cast wary glances over her shoulder, while Rickson bought supplies for the next leg of their journey. Sea travel had never been her first choice, but now that they were back on land, she missed the relative safety and comfort of Rickson’s ship.
Rickson had given the crew of the Maiden instructions as to where to go next. The river had begun to narrow and, after asking a few locals about the terrain, they knew the ship wouldn’t be able to travel much farther along the waterway. Rickson had procured a better map of the area and sent his ship on a route that would take them back toward the sea by another channel. Ewan, the First Mate, would take the Maiden on a quick shipping run before coming back to meet them. Rickson said he trusted his crew, and they would be waiting for them when they came back south from Senlas. Rhis hoped his faith in them wasn’t misplaced.
Shouldering his pack, Rickson led them through the streets toward the north side of town. Rhis relaxed as they left the crowd behind. According to Rickson’s calculations, they would need to travel north on foot for two weeks to reach the mountain pass that should lead to Senlas. From there, it was difficult to determine how long the journey would take. If there was a road or path that was passable, it might only be a few days; but there was nothing on Rickson’s map to indicate a decent road, and they could find themselves climbing through rough country.
Near the edge of town, tall limestone walls lined the street, fronted by a row of tall trees on either side. The back of Rhis’s neck tingled, and she slowed.
Rickson glanced back at her. “What’s wrong?”
Rhis looked around. A cool breeze wafted through the dangling leaves of the trees, and the street was empty. Nothing moved, but Rhis couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“I think we’re being followed,” she said.
Asher’s hand darted to the knife he wore at his belt and Rickson took a step toward her. “Did you see something?”
“No,” she said. “It’s just a feeling.”
Rickson looked up and down the street, then turned back to Rhis. “We’ll be on our guard, but maybe you’re being paranoid.”
“I’m always paranoid,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s why I’m still alive.”
The walls fell away and the countryside opened around them, the road leading into the hills. Rows of olive trees spread out on one side of the road. A thick orange grove stood on the other. As they made their way down the wide dirt path, Asher picked a few oranges from the lower branches.
The feeling that they were being watched intensified, and Rhis whipped around.
“Rhis, we’re fine,” Rickson said. “You’re making me—”
Something raced through the air toward Asher and Rhis dove in front of him, knocking him to the ground. A sting bit her arm and she swatted the dart away. “Get down!”
Rickson grunted as he fell to the ground. Was he hit? Rhis held herself over Asher, pinning him to the ground. A wave of nausea hit as the poison spread. “Are you okay?” she said, choking out the words through the bile rising in her throat.
“Yeah,” Asher said.
“Good. When I let go, we run for the trees.” The orange trees were thicker, but they’d have to cross the road, and the olive grove should provide enough cover, at least temporarily.
She felt Asher nod so she jumped to her feet, fighting the weakness that stole through her limbs. Keeping herself in front of Asher as a shield, she ran with him into the olive trees. She glanced back at Rickson. He lay still, his face in the dirt.
Rhis moved Asher behind a tree trunk and put her hands on his shoulders. “Do you feel okay?”
Asher nodded, but his eyes widened. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
She glanced at her pack, still strapped to her back. A long needle stuck out from the fabric near her shoulder.
“Shit,” she said, batting the dart away, and stepped on it, digging it into the ground. She loosened the straps of her bag and let it fall. “I’ll take care of this. You stay hidden.”
“You don’t look good,” Asher said.
Rhis swiped a hand across her damp forehead. Nausea swirled in her gut and her limbs felt heavy. “I’ll be fine. Just stay here.”
She turned, squinting as she watched for any hint of movement between the trees. Slipping daggers into both hands, she crept forward, trying to ignore Rickson’s body. She couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, and she needed to deal with the assassin before she could check. Her chest constricted at the thought of him lying dead on the ground, but she swallowed hard and pushed the thought away. Whoever the assassin was, he was going to die. Slowly, if Rhis had any say in the matter.
Another dart flew toward her and she sidestepped, the needle hissing past. A hint of movement showed from behind an olive tree and she threw a knife. It sailed past, nearly scraping the trunk, as Rhis bolted toward the spot. Her legs felt wobbly, but she ran anyway, and the other assassin darted across the road and into the orange trees.
Rhis followed, drawing another dagger. She ground her teeth together, anger searing through her as she fought against the effects of the poison. Although she knew it wouldn’t kill her, it was hard to concentrate, and she had to resist a powerful urge to stop and lie down.
The orange trees were dense, their bushy li
mbs trailing down to the ground with little space in between. Rhis crept forward, slowing her pace, and kept her ears sharp. Leaves rustled to her left and she ducked, spinning toward the sound, but she couldn’t see anything through the tangle of foliage.
A dart hissed by, racing past from the other direction. Rhis sped through the leaves, the branches scraping against her arms and clinging to her clothes. Trees rustled ahead of her and she pushed on, following the faint sound of soft footsteps and rustling branches.
Her stomach churned and she slowed her pace, unsure in which direction the assassin had gone. The trees went still and the footsteps had faded. Her gaze whipped around, wary of another poison dart taking her unawares. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Where are you?
Rhis crept through the trees, listening for any sign of the assassin. The grove had gone silent, as if she was the only living creature nearby. Was he circling around her? Turning, she walked backward down the path between two rows of trees, her heart thundering in her chest.
Asher.
Cursing herself for not thinking clearly, she raced back toward the road. The assassin wasn’t after her. He was trying to kill Asher.
Rhis burst from the orange trees onto the road and looked around wildly. There was no sign of the assassin and, as she squinted into the olive grove, she didn’t see Asher either.
Forcing herself to slow down and think, Rhis stopped and took a deep breath. What would she do if Asher was her mark? The assassin had successfully led her away from the boy, leaving him undefended. All he needed to do was get Asher within his sights, and shoot to kill. Rhis carried antidotes to various poisons; even if Asher was hit, she might be able to revive him. But he was smaller than an adult, and there were so many variables in poisoning. Her stomach protested with renewed sickness at the thought of both Asher and Rickson dead. No. She couldn’t let that happen.
Rhis crossed the road and crept into the olive grove. The branches were higher and the trunks bare, allowing for greater visibility, but it seemed deserted. Placing a hand on a trunk, she paused, trying to feel the other assassin. Her left eye twitched and she followed her instinct, cutting through the trees.