“Why don’t you come along with us?” Creepy-whistling-guy says, drawing the words out in a kind of melodic tone that skips over my skin and makes me shiver unpleasantly.
“We can talk here,” I say politely, offering him a smile.
I probably would have missed the creasing around his eyes, after all his smile doesn’t falter, if Killian didn’t also chuckle.
“Or we can make you,” the big guy in the middle says.
Killian turns sharply, pulling free from my grip and practically putting his back to mine.
“What?” I whisper, not taking my attention off the three Sabers in front of me.
Something tells me that both of us turning our backs on them would be a bad idea.
“Nine,” Killian lets the word out on a grunt.
Nine? Like nine armed Sabers have surrounded us? There are times when full sentences would be useful.
“Where’s Pax?” I whisper.
Killian shakes his head.
I put on my best fake smile. Running my hand down Killian’s arm to try and calm the man.
“Options?” I ask.
“Lots of blood.”
“And these other people?” The ones shopping. The kids and the mothers and the men just trying to make a living.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Killian nod.
“But of course,” I speak up, projecting my voice in the hope that most of these Sabers can hear me. And maybe Pax too – wherever the bralls he is. “If you’d rather talk somewhere more private,” I say sweetly.
The big guy in the middle smiles, letting out a rumbling laugh that is far too dark to sound like joy. He can’t be a DarknessSeed. The only one of those is standing at my back, and I’m pretty sure he’s not a DeathSeed. I’ve been very close to a few of those, and he just doesn’t feel the same. But what other options are there for Seeds that feel like evil?
He turns and leads the way.
“Follow us, sweetheart,” Creepy says.
He tries to sidle in next to me, but Killian turns and steps between us. Leaving me with Broken-nose guy as my bookend. Three more Sabers follow us. There would be others among the stalls – Sabers usually travel in threes if they’re triunes – which there really is nothing saying they are.
When we’re thoroughly boxed in and barely able to breathe without getting glared at, I spot one more Saber emerging from behind a stall, a guy in a crimson shirt.
My heart clenches, skipping a dozen beats till the point where my vision swims.
Sromma.
I search what little of the markets that I can see between and around my escorts. No heavy beards. Not sharpened teeth. No Daryan.
Yet.
And no Pax, Seth, or Roarke.
Chuck.
I really hope that whatever has gotten their attention is short lived. My guys are pretty good at being observant, but they’re not mind readers. If they don’t see where we’re going, how are they going to find us… save us?
Or get close enough for me to warn them.
“Killian,” I hiss.
“I saw him,” he grunts, I feel quite proud of myself for being able to decipher that.
“Pax,” I hiss.
“You wanted to talk to enforcement,” he says.
I sag.
Crap.
We need the information to leave town. But we need to avoid BeastSeeds more. Killian reaches for his sword as two kids with balloons run past. I grab the man’s wrist, stopping him.
“No, not on the street,” I whisper, and his blade clicks back into place.
I push that problem to one side of my mind as Killian wraps an arm around my shoulders, creating a man-shield – a maield.
“What’s the plan?” I whisper, trying to focus on the actual problem and not reinventing the common language – which is absolutely the least important thing I could be doing right now.
“When I say duck, duck.” His words are so low that it takes me a minute of analyzing them before I’m sure I’ve heard them right.
I nod. Ducking is something I can do. Ducking and washing dishes.
Check.
“We still need answers,” I say, but it’s technically a question.
Do we? Do we really?
Should we just leave?
He makes a noise that is almost a ‘herm’ but could also be a ‘herrr.’ I don’t have a translation for that one.
We’re quickly led from the bustling maze of market stalls and out among the only stone buildings on the ground. The two guards in the lead, the really-big-guy with a bow and another with shoulder-length red hair, stream into a building with a sign over the door. Two swords crossed over a shield.
And words, but I can’t read words.
The others hesitate outside the door, but it’s clear Killian and I are expected to go inside. Once my eyes have adjusted to the low light, I realize there’s not room for everyone in here. A metal door shuts in front of us and one behind, enclosing us in a floor-to-ceiling cage that instantly feels too small.
At least we’re the only ones in here. The redhead and the big-guy – who I’m guessing is their commander – are standing with smug expressions in the room beyond.
Several desks line the right, with bookshelves and filing cabinets behind them, and the center of the room is nicely decorated with three sets of manacles fixed to the solid stone floor. There’s a divot down the middle of it. A drain.
For blood.
What did I get us into?
It was my idea to talk to them. Killian wanted to kill them on sight. I should have trusted him.
New rule – always trust the Darkness guy.
My Darkness guy.
I try to judge the level of fear in his expression and see none. His lips pull into his almost smile, and he nods at me – just once.
What does that mean? Is he confident we can escape without being maimed or is he looking forward to the maiming?
He does agree that there are bigger problems prowling around out there – doesn’t he? Or does he know something I don’t?
“Weapons,” the commander orders.
“Hurry up,” Red adds.
They’re standing to the left and right of us, arms crossed over their chests, muscles pumped out in a very effective intimidation strategy – but they’re outside the cage.
I keep my mouth shut, possibly because I’m frozen in fear. Killian begins to pull his weapons out. The big curved blade tucked into the front of his belt, broad sword at his side, knife at his back, and really big dagger strapped to the outside of his leg. He puts them all through a hole in the bars and into a metal box attached to the outside of the cage, then Red slaps the lid shut.
“Is that all of them?” the commander asks, his brows drawn in accusation.
Killian holds his arms wide and turns in a slow circle. He’s not wearing his cloak; all of that kind of stuff was left with the horses at a stable on the other side of town.
Horses which we saddled, loaded our gear onto, and paid the Seduction chick to keep an eye on.
Which now makes me think Killian, or someone, knew that a mess was bound to happen.
Killian moves slowly, and on first glance it looks like he’s disarmed himself. I know he hasn’t. He’s probably got every letter of the alphabet in weapons and at least A-J are still on him somewhere.
“Search us,” he says in his low rumble.
The big guard smiles, then nods – but not at us, at the guards waiting outside. The metal door squeals sharply. The cage is filled with three Sabers, and Killian is throwing punches.
“Duck,” he grunts, two seconds after he’s moved to attack the nearest guard.
I duck and close my eyes against a spray of blood. The first guard goes down.
My head hits the bars and a hand reaches through to grip my hair and pin me in place. Fear explodes in my chest. My hands fly back, searching – bars, clothes, long hair, and muscles tensed ready to do damage. The information bombards me. A calloused h
and with hairy knuckles, a black hilt, and the feel of cold steel against my throat.
Killian turns in the same second as the two remaining guards both throw punches. One to the temple and the other to the jaw. Killian drops like a rock. Hitting the stone floor, his body shudders from the impact.
“Killian,” I gasp.
My whole body is aching to move, to get to Killian.
But I’m frozen with a blade firmly against my throat.
The hand in my hair relaxes, but I don’t. I can feel Killian is still alive, feel it. Not sure how, but the knowledge is enough to keep me exactly where I am. The door opens, making the bars shudder and vibrate against my back, shoulders, and skull – the parts of me still pressed hard to the cage.
The two conscious guards inside this cage grab Killian by the arms and drag him into the center of the room. They fix manacles to his ankles and run their hands over every crease and pocket. More weapons are pulled out and slid across the rough floor toward the commander. He’s just standing there, watching everything unfold with a critical eye, while Red picks up each weapon and inspects them.
A key clicks in the lock outside and the last guard walks into the cage – locking our exit behind him before picking up the guy Killian had knocked out and depositing him in a big cane armchair behind one of the desks. Blood dribbles from his nose and the corner of his mouth as his head lobs to the side. It’s unnerving.
“You’re next,” Red orders.
I turn, practically crouching on the floor. There’s six guards in there now. The room’s heavy with power, and they’re all looking at little me.
The commander, Red, Unconscious, and Creep – whose brown eyes on me are making my skin crawl – spread out across the desks. Broken-Nose has picked up one of Killian’s weapons and stabbed it into the edge of the desk he’s sitting on. And guy number six, who I hadn’t really looked at before, his gaze jumps from me to Killian, wide with a kind of over-excitement – Crazy-eyes.
I walk like a meek lamb among lions into the center of the room and sit down next to Killian’s motionless body. Then Crazy-eyes locks the final metal door. Two solid iron gates between us and freedom.
They’re probably not even iron. More like some special Silvari Saber-proof metal.
Reaching over I press my hand into Killian’s. He’ll be okay.
I know he’ll be okay.
I hope.
A sensation runs through me, snapping at my fingertips, like power leaking off of him. It’s almost comforting.
The room is filled with a muffled gray light, filtered through slits of glass windows on the left wall. A pattern of windows, with a row of stone, then a long-narrow section of glass, probably big enough for me to get through, but definitely not Killian, followed by a section of stone, then another window, all the way up to the roof. They offer an interrupted view of the tail end of the markets and a cleared circle of sand. I hadn’t made it to the tail end of the market – and this is my first glimpse of this… place.
Tiered seating fills two sides, which also doubles as the walls. There seems to be only one way in and out – through the markets. A timber post stands tall in the center, and a rusty manacle hangs from the top of it. Shivers run over me at the sight of it. You’d think being in this room, with armed guards and Killian unconscious, would be the scariest thing that could happen right now – but that pole evokes a blackness inside me that I really don’t have time for.
Four kids are playing, kicking a ball around on the dusty red sand. It’s probably a quiet place to play – but the sight sends shivers down my spine.
“Why glass?” I ask, my mind grateful for my mouth’s distraction.
I understand the logic behind metal and stone and bars, and a drain in the floor is just practical. But I don’t understand the glass.
“Silvari glass, ten inches thick. People sitting where you are can watch their accomplices take their last breaths in front of a cheering crowd,” the commander says, smiling, reminiscing, and making me want to throw up.
My bubble won’t reach that far. I won’t watch Killian being executed because by the time he’s out there, I’ll already be dead in here.
The Commander sits on the corner of one of the desks and picks up a piece of paper. His companions relax a little around him. Some sitting, some standing. All of them looking satisfied.
“Rogue Saber, you are charged with the theft of goods on the trade roads and sentenced by Commander Talon – that’s me – to death by blade… After you tell us where to find the goods,” he reads, looking at Killian as if the unconscious guy can hear him.
“You’re going to need him to wake up first,” I say.
“We plan to question you while we wait,” Creepy says.
“Okay, well, I did hear a rumor that the Crown already sent a triune to deal with the bandit – and that they succeeded. Are we talking about a bandit here?”
“Are we?” the commander presses.
“He’s the only encounter with stolen goods I’ve ever had. I can probably recount pretty good directions to the rest of the goods – except I ate the chocolate. Consider it payment for having to deal with him.”
Creepy laughs.
The commander frowns.
“The goods in question are weapons – high grade weapons – not chocolate,” Crazy-eyes growls.
“I don’t know anything else. Why did you suspect him, anyway?”
“We didn’t, we suspected you at first. The woman in the attack was not your normal Saber. Then we suspected him because he looks like a DragonSeed or a MagnetSeed,” Red explains.
I snort and try to act like this is news to me. “MagnetSeeds are myths.”
“When armed guards from the Black Castle recount seeing a big man manipulate metal, the Seed is no longer a myth. Kieth, do your thing,” the Commander says.
Great. We’ve got the Crown and BeastSeeds on our asses, and now some other crazy rare Seeds stealing weapons. Priorities, people – let me deal with this chuckin’ bubble first.
Kieth, aka Creepy, smiles broadly. “Let’s start with why you’re with him?” he says, and his tone goes from conversational to melodic, sending a shiver through me.
Everyone waits for my response. This feels rehearsed, like they’ve done this a lot. They get the suspects into their office-and-torture-space, Kieth asks them the questions, and all their secrets spill out.
And now I feel stupid.
Of course, that is exactly what’s supposed to happen.
I look at the guy intently, but it’s impossible for me to tell what his Seed is. Not Allure, maybe Persuasion?
“Talk to me,” the guy says, a flicker of impatience in his sharpening features. “I want the details of your relationship with this Saber.”
I can feel his strength, the compulsion brushing against me, but the effect doesn’t sink beneath my skin.
Which means I can say anything I want.
I part my lips, and let my mouth do what it does best – talk shit. “I’m his fashion designer.”
Kieth’s jaw ticks with a sudden explosion of anger. Red bellows a laugh, but gets punched in the shoulder by Crazy-eyes.
“Sorry, Sir,” Red says, taking two big steps toward the back of the room.
“She has to be telling the truth,” Kieth says. “She’s a Silvari with so little power I’m not even sure how she’s alive.”
I pinch my lips, like his words have hurt me. I need him to think his words have hurt me.
Common sense says that letting these people find out I’m mortal would be so very bad.
“My mother gave birth to me while she was dying,” I say, not sure if that’s a plausible explanation.
“She can’t be a fashion designer. She looks like something the dog left in it’s bowl,” Crazy-eyes says. “She’s wearing a man’s shirt.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. Waving dramatically over Killian’s current attire.
“That is exactly the fashion I sell to my clients.”
/> “What’s his name?” Kieth asks, pressing his power against me.
I marvel at the sensation of it. Roarke’s ability doesn’t really feel like anything. He says something, and I obey, simple as that. Not this guy, though.
“Don’t you know who he is?” I ask.
Red crouches down, looking me in the eye like a dim-witted child as he speaks. “We’ve spent a lot of time in some very far off places doing very specific work for the Crown. You know who he is, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Where we’ve been, you wouldn’t survive.”
“Tanakan?” I whisper, but the word is still too loud in this small room.
He sneers. “She’s not as dumb as she looks.”
“What did you do?” I whisper, hoping that the question sounds like a slip of the tongue again.
“Some disbanded triunes guard the prestigious Black Castle, others patrol the halls of Tanakan. It’s the luck of the draw. Now luck has brought us here, to you,” Red says.
“Only the best enforcement for the Crown’s most important cities. There’s not a Seed who passes through Lackshir that we don’t know how to deal with. Now, answer the question – who is this man?” Keith adds.
“Lilian,” I answer. “His name is Lilian.”
“And how did he hire you?”
“I meet all my clients at the foot-salon. He was getting a pedicure, and I was getting a ten-point-toe-massage.”
Relaxed cheeks. Relaxed cheeks, I coach myself through keeping a straight face.
“I give the foot-salon ten percent of my earnings, and in return they allow me to sell my services to their clients. So, I just leaned over and mentioned that his shirt doesn’t really match his eyes. You can’t see his eyes because you kind of knocked him out. I’m still getting paid, though, aren’t I? I mean, the chocolate was only half the contract.”
The men just look at me, various levels of losing-their-patience written in their expressions.
Commander Talon approaches, his steps fierce, his gaze boring down on me, and his fist clenched. I shuffle backward just a bit, drawing my feet in close to me in preparation for becoming a ball. The curl-into-a-ball defensive move has worked quite well for me in the past.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 57
