“I wish I could do more,” says Miles, removing the Prones first from Talon’s wrists, then mine. “But you’re on your own from here.”
Talon claps him on the shoulder the way Tyrus had. “It’s enough. Go back before Tyrus suspects anything.”
Miles jogs toward the opening he and the other soldiers battered their way into. Wordlessly, the girl pivots to follow. He retrieves the last of the black cases, including the one she’s holding. I can’t help but wonder who she is. A girlfriend, maybe? He doesn’t act like she is.
“Miles,” Talon calls. The boy pauses, glancing back. “Thanks.”
Miles nods, tipping his head in my direction before hiking up the stairs. Head still ducked down, the girl ambles to follow. Not by his side, I notice. She’s careful to step in his wake.
“Who is she?” I ask, still keeping my attention on the vacant, dark stairwell.
“His subjugate,” says Talon from behind me.
I whirl around, brows rising though I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course she had to be nearby Miles. I’ve heard soldiers have to have the magic’s owner close by in order to use it. No wonder she seemed so uncomfortable.
Talon’s eyes trap mine. Concern creases his brow, taking place of the pain that was there minutes ago. That one look releases every worry, every ounce of impatience, every fear I’ve felt since seeing him here like this, since the video conference Tyrus had with Talon’s father. It all fades for a breath, a beat, only long enough to pulse.
Talon’s hand rests on my arm. “Ambry.”
He’s alive. We’re both alive. His fingers reach for my face when he takes in the sight of his hand and retracts.
I want to reach for it, to pull him back to me, but Shasa stands between us, even when she isn’t here. So many unanswered questions. “Miles. He’s your friend?” I ask.
“He used to be.” Talon sniffs, inspecting the empty chamber. “He was recruited around the same time I returned from Arcaia to Valadir. He was in one of the first battalions I trained, and we hit it off.” Talon’s confident gait is marred by a heavy limp, but it doesn’t stop him from bending toward the tunnel Shasa and Ren took when they fled the dungeon.
“They’ve been to Mt. Rhine, Talon,” I say, joining him and voicing one of the many worries that now tumble back in. My steps crunch against the grimy floor. The air is cool and musty, and we both have to hunch over to avoid scraping our heads against the stone above. “What else would Tyrus mean by his threat? Why else would he assign Adrian here if not to rub his song immunity in my face?”
Talon speaks distractedly, head veering left, then right, before he trudges down the long, narrow corridor. “He doesn’t have the tears—he would have shown them to my father.”
“Talon.” I lay a hand on his muscled forearm to catch his attention. “Your father. I—” I don’t know what to say. Bridar Haraway’s harsh words dangle between us like a snare.
“The Arcs are going after the sirens, Ambry. After the tears.” I read the sympathetic, evasive tone of his voice. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and for once I don’t blame him. “Do you still sense them?”
“Sometimes,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck as if the tears are trying to speak for me. We’re still here, they seem to say.
The collar of Talon’s shirt has been ripped, revealing the sight of his chest. He remains motionless, and I mirror his stance, not sure what to do next. I have so much I want to say to him. To thank him, to apologize. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn’t be in here. He wouldn’t have had his legs broken; he wouldn’t have been humiliated before his people, his father.
His hand clenches into a fist. He catches me noticing and scowls, dipping his head down again and making for the end of the corridor.
Things are tender between us, a fresh wound on a snarling wolf. If only the animal would let you near enough, you could clean it, dress it, and let it begin to heal. Only I can’t tell where the wound is exactly, and it seems as though speaking will only cut it deeper.
Maybe what he felt before had just been fleeting. Maybe in his solitude here he’s had time to think through things.
Or maybe he’s engaged to someone else and is trying to do the right thing by keeping his distance.
“If Tyrus is heading to Mt. Rhine,” I say, feet moving twice as fast as his just to keep pace, “then we’ve got to get there first.”
Talon’s eyes pierce right through me as though I’ve spoken in some abnormal language. Small notches in the wall provide shafts of light, and he takes the left bend at the tunnel’s end.
“They had to have known this would happen,” I finish.
“They’re tears, Ambry,” he says.
His wry tone stings. I turn away from him, gauging the bleak corridor heading down the opposite direction from the one we’re taking. “Angels, I’m so tired of people telling me that. There’s a grand scheme in all of this, Talon. Bigger than you, than me, than the Arcaians.”
“Even so, tears can’t tell the future.”
His words answer a question I hadn’t known I asked. “No,” I say with dawning realization, “but they came from someone who could. Talon, we need Jomeini. Especially if the Arcs are moving in on Mt. Rhine, we need her. You know her, don’t you?” I run sideways through an especially narrow section, keeping my gaze on him.
“I’ve met her,” he says.
“Then we have to find her. I have to know what Jomeini Saw. Even if we get the tears back, I don’t know what to do with them. Did Jomeini mention anything to you?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know she’d shed them until after Shasa sold them.”
His words are cold, and I stop in place. I can’t understand this newfound barrier. One minute he’s reaching for me, the next he’s giving me one-word answers that barely count for a conversation.
“Talon, I’m sorry,” I say to his back.
He slows, then stops. Shaking his head, he backtracks. His expression shifts to fierce and pointed, an arrow bent for a specific target. “You don’t have to apologize, Ambry. I was—”
I lean in, aching to hear it. Don’t close up, I plead. You know me. You can be open with me.
The fierceness in his face dissolves, and he releases a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ve just seen my father for the first time since I was taken by Tyrus, and it’s—” He scrapes a hand through his hair.
“Why didn’t he seem happy to see you?” I ask.
His shoulders hunch. “From the look of things, my father is the general of the Feihrian army. I’m sure he didn’t want to show weakness before his men.”
I add as much tenderness to the words as I can. “So he thinks it’s better if you were dead?”
Talon averts his gaze. “That way I wouldn’t be such a disappointment to him.”
Pity swells, stinging at my eyes. “I’m sorry. Talon, he said something about how you were the heir to…something. I wasn’t sure what that was.”
“The Feihrian Triarch are three men—sort of like kings—who rule Feihria. My father is the Head Triarch and as his oldest son that makes me his heir.”
My lips part. “So you’re like…royalty?”
He gives me a solemn nod before taking my hand. “Come on. Miles will distract Tyrus if he can, but we don’t have long. Let’s go.”
Shasa leads Ren through back corridors he didn’t even know existed. Granted, he only served at the Triad for two months or so, and he stuck to the main stomping grounds used by Tyrus and the other commanding officers of Arcaia, but still, he should know his way around better than this.
To his surprise they don’t meet much resistance; aside from the few guards Shasa takes down without a second thought. Ren prays against the plummeting trench in his gut telling him it’s because of whatever Tyrus is doing to Ambry and Talon.
She’s with the warrior, Ren tells himself. He’ll get her out. He couldn’t have helped her. Staying would only have made things worse. At least this way he can concoct another bra
inless idea to sneak in and get her out if need be.
Ren hurries, pushing past startled servants carrying linens, an older woman glowering with a wooden spoon in hand, her graying hair seeping from its net.
Finally at the end of a long row of sinks, the air steaming with heat and moisture from the spray of running water as several women wearing aprons bustle over pots and pans, Shasa kicks through the door, leading Ren out into the sunlight where an old man with long gray hair hanging behind each ear snags Shasa by the arm.
To Ren’s surprise, Shasa allows the encounter.
“What took you so long?” the old man demands. He’s hunched over, his dark skin wrinkled like crumpled linen. “You should have been back here forty minutes ago.”
“We had a bit of a distraction,” Shasa replies. “Ready?”
“Where is Haraway?”
Shasa’s gaze slides to Ren. “I got someone better.”
Ren holds up his hands as if to stop her. “You’re talking about me? What do you want from me?”
He isn’t sure whether to go back inside or make a run for it. The old man doesn’t seem to be a threat, and for certain Shasa would never waste her time around someone she thought might hurt her.
“Listen—” she says.
“Who is he?” the old man asks before Ren gets a chance to move.
Shasa grunts, still panting. Several strands of hair escape from the two buns atop her head. “Sir, this is Ren Csille. The tears-stealer’s brother.”
The old man’s brows arch, his mouth opening in recognition. “Ren Csille, I’m Solomus Straylark. And if you’ll excuse my lack of manners, we’re short on time.”
Solomus Straylark, the wizard? Shasa didn’t say anything about him. Neither did Ambry, for that matter. From the sound of things, Solomus knows who Ambry is. Tears-Stealer?
“You’re the one who—?”
“Cast the spell, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ren Csille. I must apologize. I had the opportunity to join your sister in your rescue and I neglected to take it. I’m glad to see you made it out after all. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He shuffles past, hobbling toward the ocean and the gate at the north end of the pavement. The sun hangs low over the ocean, warming the sky to a brilliant orange that reflects in the crystalline water.
“He’s coming,” Shasa says without moving.
“Oh?”
Solomus glances back at the same time Ren asks, “Coming where, exactly? Ambry and Talon—”
The wizard hobbles to retrace the few steps he took. “You think this boy’s skill matches Haraway’s? The plan was to get someone who could best you, Shasa. You know what’s at stake.”
Shasa spits blood on the cobblestone. She did a large amount of fighting. Ren didn’t realize she was injured. His own hands throb, his left shoulder stinging where one soldier punched him.
“Curse it,” says the wizard, wagging a shaky finger in the girl’s face. “This is our only chance. If what you say is true, and Craven really is leaving the country with her, Jomeini may not last long enough for us to come back another time!”
“Then what are we standing around here for?” Shasa cries. She turns to Ren. “I need you to fight me.”
“What?”
“My magic was taken by a man named Craven who also holds the maiden wizard’s magic. We need to be free of him, and the only way to do that is to kill him. I can’t do it, and neither can Jomeini. And if anyone tries to kill him, I’ve been ordered to protect Craven to the end of my life, if necessary. You need to try to kill Craven. And I’m going to try to stop you, so you’ll have to take me out to get to him.”
Ren’s mouth hangs open. He is literally speechless.
“Solomus tried to rescue us once and ended up hurting Jomeini really badly—so that’s out. He can help you, though.”
“I’ll be by your side, Ren Csille,” says the wizard. “My magic isn’t what it used to be. But I’ll make sure Shasa doesn’t win.”
“And that you don’t seriously hurt me while going after Craven,” Shasa adds.
The ground beneath him becomes an ocean floor, sifting out from under his feet with every additional wave. Ren holds out an arm. “You’re asking me to just— kill someone? And fight you in order to do it? You’re Feihrian.”
The three of them pause. Shasa and Solomus exchange a look. The wizard’s eyes analyze Ren for mere moments before he drapes a finger beneath his nose and says, “Maybe we should wait for Haraway.”
“There’s no time,” Shasa says, huffing. “Look, Csille. Your sister is with Talon. If they’re trapped, our best chance of getting them out is having Jomeini’s and my magic freed.”
Ren barks out a laugh. He can’t help it—this is asinine! He just met this girl! She attacked his sister, she went into the dungeons and disregarded Haraway the instant she saw he was injured, and now she expects Ren to fight her? He saw her in action in there.
But what else can he do? If he walks away, he abandons Ambry. He could call Dircey—they’re packing up shop and sneaking out of town today. By all accounts that really is his best option.
And yet.
Ren rubs his forehead, pacing a few steps before returning to the two crazies. “You do realize that I’ve only just met you. There is also a very good chance that you will end up taking me down instead of the other way around.”
Shasa’s lips break into a flirtatious smile. She moves closer. “I already told you, I like you, Ren. I think that will probably come into play should worse come to worst.”
Her worse is already the worst. Angels.
He can’t help Ambry right now. But if there’s a chance he can help the maiden wizard, Shasa said it would return her magic and in turn help his sister.
“If I do this, you’ll help me save Ambry?”
“We’ll help you,” the wizard promises.
Ren crosses his arms over his chest. “Then I’ll help you get her out. But I’m not killing anyone.”
Shasa opens her mouth to argue, but the wizard stops her with a hand. “That is enough for me. If you’re coming, Mr. Csille, come. If not, your best chance of getting out is following along to the boardwalk, in the same direction we are going. Think it over, and we won’t blame you for parting ways if it comes to that.”
Without another word Shasa begins strutting toward the gate. Solomus totters behind her directly across the open training grounds. Ren glances behind. He and Shasa took out the soldiers who were foolish enough to follow them, so it only makes sense that the recruits grunting and sparring pay them hardly any attention. Even still, Ren ducks his head. If anyone recognizes him, they’ll try to kill him for sure.
Ren jogs forward, joining Shasa and the wizard as they step through the gate. His feet sink into the sand. Just as the wizard said, the boardwalk lines along to Ren’s left, providing direct routes to the small restaurants and businesses selling trivial things like swimwear and sunglasses.
“You wanna tell me where we’re going?” Ren asks, grunting when he gets no response.
The boat shed grows larger with every step they take. Waves, slow and small, crash into the stone and curl against the posts below the pier. Several seagulls coast above their heads, and Ren squints out the sunlight shining directly into his eyes and glaring from the water.
In all of his time in Valadir, Ren has never been this close to the ocean. He only ever made it as far as the palace, but never beyond—it was never in Tyrus’s interests. The three pass the sheds to where a lower dock wedges into the sand. A boat bobs in the water, still lassoed to the dock by a sturdy rope. To the left, a trail in the sand marks a path to a much smaller though still large shed, neighbored by a section of landscaped trees and flowers.
Another old man wearing a large black coat despite the heat of the day scurries around, tossing bags and random things into the boat, shouting random words like, “Soon!” and “Don’t lie, it never lies.”
“Craven!” Solomus shouts out, disturbing the
man’s rambling.
Ren grabs Shasa’s arm and yanks her to a stop. Her eyes widen at his hold on her. “You mean you’re confronting him now?” he asks in disbelief.
“Of course now, when did you think I meant?” She shakes him off.
Bracing a hand on either side, Craven freezes with his back against the side of the boat. Unlike Solomus Straylark, who is stooped over as if every step he takes is painful, this man is tall and straight-backed. He has a prominent nose and deep set eyes that get lost in the shadow of his brow.
Regardless, the odds are clearly in Ren’s favor. Shasa wants Ren to attack this man? It would be like a tiger charging a withered turkey. This is for Ambry, he tells himself. If this is my way to get her out, I have to take it.
“You can’t have her!” Craven dithers around the pile collected at his feet, tossing something into the ocean before flinging another small bag into the aluminum boat. His feet splash, the water clearly slowing down his movements.
The ocean spans on and on until it hits the bottom of the sky. He can’t possibly think he can cross in a boat this size, can he? It’s clear Craven isn’t planning for a fishing trip when he pitches a sleeping bag onto the pile of clutter within.
“Craven,” says Solomus. “It’s time this ends.”
“Had to get help, did we, Straylark?” the old man taunts. “Couldn’t curse me on your own again?” He laughs. “Jomeini!”
Ren glances around, and soon, he sees someone crossing the sand.
A petite girl, pretty and dark-skinned with black hair clumping and waving in the breeze marches out from the shed. It stands separate from the newer versions near the pier, with feiberry trees planted nearby, their roots upending several planks. Ren can tell the place is drafty without having to set foot inside.
“Jomeini!” Solomus cries out as the girl crosses the sand to stand at Craven’s side. She wears a faded dress that looks as though it hasn’t been washed in months. Her chin lowered, she glances toward Shasa, Ren, and Solomus with a timid, fearful expression. Though she’s short, her manner ages her. Ren guesses she’s at least sixteen. And the fear and desperation dripping from her gaze is so unlike his kinsmen’s emotionless, robotic lives, if Ren didn’t know better he’d think she was Arcaian.
Such a Daring Endeavor Page 11
