by Ryan Wieser
She stepped out of the water and moved past him, only dropping his gaze at the last possible minute. He followed her into the bedroom quietly and sat on the bed as she began to dry her body. “Jessop…what do you want me to say?”
She fixed her stare on him. “Admit you love him still. Admit it wounds you that he did not return to your side. I want you to admit that you regret asking me to woo him of all the possible Hunters. Admit you wish to kill him because you cannot live with your decision, and you can’t let him live with it either.”
He stared at her in silence. His eyes were wide and pain filled his face. They both knew she was right.
“Jess—”
“Goodnight, Falco.”
* * * *
When Jessop woke, Falco was sitting at the end of their bed, watching her. She rolled over and sat up slowly. She had to dress Jeco and take him to Trax, before the proceedings began.
“I already took him to Trax,” Falco spoke, knowing all she thought, always.
She ignored him, slowly getting to her feet. She needed to dress. As she moved past him, he reached for her hand. She pulled away. “I do not wish to speak with you, Falco.”
“But, Jessop…”
She glared down at him, disinterested in picking up where they had left off the previous night. She had felt as though Kohl’s fate would always be in her hands, despite anything she had said to the contrary.
“Jessop, I thought about what—” Falco began, but was cut off by a loud rasping at the door.
“Falco! Jessop!”
It was Korend’a. Jessop ran to the door and threw it open. Korend’a was flanked by guards and out of breath.
She grabbed his arm, stunned to see him so shaken. He had sweat on his brow and his eyes told her something terrible had happened. He shook his head at her. “It’s urgent—Trax, he’s been attacked. There’s blood everywhere.”
Falco brushed past her, his brow knitted with concern and anger. “Take me to him.”
Jessop tried to understand what Korend’a was saying. Trax was too great a warrior to be gravely wounded. He was the youngest Councilman in the Blade—who could possibly best him if not herself or Falco? It wasn’t just because of their close friendship that she trusted him with their son…Jeco.
Jessop’s heart raced and the blood seemed to drain from her. She felt faint, knowing instantly what horror Korend’a was reporting. Her knees buckled and she fell against the doorway, collapsing to the ground. Falco grabbed her arms, trying to pull her back up, obviously yet to understand what their friend was trying to tell them.
“Falco—it’s your son. We can’t find him.”
CHAPTER 18
Jessop moved through the corridors, quick as a flame, forcing open every door she passed with a sweep of her hand, entering the minds of any she crossed, searching for those big, gray eyes. “Jeco!”
She had never known she could scream at such a volume.
There had been blood everywhere, more blood than she had ever seen in one of the Blade’s sterile chambers. Trax had collapsed, face forward, surrounded in the crimson pool. He had been cut from lower hip to rib cage, up his back, with a wound that would have killed him had Falco arrived any later. His eyes had rolled back in his head, blood trailing from his mouth, and he had breathed two names aloud, barely audible. “Jeco…Hanson…”
Jessop had gone into his mind instantly, feeling the blade enter his back, reaching for his weapon futilely as the wound was deepened. He fell to his knees. “Run Jeco! Run!” He had lurched the boy forward in his arms. Jeco was crying, clinging to Trax as the old scarred hands grabbed him. “Come with me, come now,” the voice had commanded, and Jessop knew it well. It was the distinct voice of Hanson Knell.
That was all she had managed to get before leaving Falco to heal him. Korend’a had set all of the guards into motion; Mar’e had ordered the soldiers into the city, and Jessop was searching the Blade, stopping every passer-by who crossed her. No matter what comforts she voiced in her head, no matter how many times someone told her “He’s here somewhere—we will find him,” she could not slow her heart. She felt an acidity in her stomach that rose into her throat; she felt a helplessness that one with great power never felt; she felt all the fear she had been incapable of feeling for all of her long years.
She stepped into the bullet and travelled down a floor, her eyes searching through the transparent chute for her dark-haired boy. Word had already gotten out—the Blade knew Falco Bane’s son was missing. Hunters were searching, students were searching, techs were searching—anyone who wasn’t looking for Jeco would answer to her and Falco. She stepped out of the bullet and crossed the pristine corridor quickly. Two guards came by her, holding idle conversation. She forced into the mind of one, and found nothing. Without thinking, she grabbed the other, placed her hand on his temple and rooted around angrily through his thoughts.
“What the—”
He tried to push her off but her grip was unbreakable, her strength fortified by her fear and determination.
When she found nothing, she released him. The guard stared at her with anger and confusion, his friend holding him steady to collect himself. “What are you doing?” he demanded of her.
Wasn’t it obvious, she thought to herself. Searching for her son took precedent over everything, over everyone. “Finding my son,” she growled back. When they did not move, she felt her rage spring forth. “Get to work! Go find a Hunter and receive instruction on how you can help—now.”
They scurried around her, jogging in the direction of the bullet. She couldn’t focus on the sheer incompetence of those surrounding her. She couldn’t focus, in general. She needed him back. It was a feeling like no other, not knowing where her son was. The pain was indescribable—a severed limb. The confusion and suspicion unparalleled. She felt as though if she could do anything, say anything in that moment to get him back, she would do it, as certain as she ever could be that nothing had ever mattered more than him.
She flung doors open, nearly breaking their automatic motions. She entered rooms without announcement. She ignored the confused eyes and startled movements of tenants, she flipped over beds and searched bathing chambers, uttering nothing as she entered and exited, throwing occupants out of her way with a flick of her wrist. She carried down the corridor, searching room after room, yelling for her son to return to her.
She continued her hunt, floor after floor, until she felt the realization in her heart—he wasn’t in the Blade any longer. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Would Hanson Knell really come so far for Jeco when there was another he cared for greatly? She pivoted around, her boots screeching on the immaculate floor as she raced for a bullet.
* * * *
His guards were all still standing watch. “Has anyone come for him?” she barked to the first, who stood with a blank expression at the entry of the dark corridor. “Answer me, has anyone attempted to rescue the prisoner?” Her voice was an echo in the small space, her anger and fear travelling around them with a violent force.
“No, no one has come,” he answered, shaken by her.
She didn’t believe it. If Jeco had been missing for an hour that was more than enough time for Hanson to have made his way to the Hollow. “Get out of my way,” she growled, marching past the guards. She expected to find the training room empty, she expected the guards to have been duped by strong Sentio powers and a powerful Hunter’s agenda…but he was still there.
His hands were bound in manacles that were fixed to the ground, only several feet away from a burning fire pit. He was wearing fresh clothes, all black, and his hair had been tied back with a leather. She had completely forgotten about the execution. He looked up to her with wide-eyed concern.
She flipped to the ground, landing just before him on bended knee. “Where is he, Kohl?”
He shook his head at her. “Jessop, what’s go
ing on? The guards won’t tell me anything, but I can sense it, I can feel the chaos throughout the Blade—what’s happened?”
She studied his hazel eyes and searched his confused face. His expression and voice were so sincere that she immediately wanted to believe him, and were it about any other matter, she likely would have. But things had changed—she had seen what Kohl was capable of. “Do not toy with me. Where is Hanson?”
He arched his brow at her. “Hanson?”
She struck him violently, the back of her hand searing against his cheek. “I said don’t toy with me, Kohl! Hanson was here. What do you know? What have you kept from me?” She hit him again, and a third time, until his lips bled onto her throbbing fingers.
He swayed under her assaults. She struck him with each fist, demanding information. He gave her nothing. “I know nothing, Jessop. I know nothing.” She kicked him in the chest and he fell back with a heavy thud. She leapt, like an animal, onto him, straddling his broad form. She grabbed his blond head of hair and focused, entering his mind without pause. She searched, moving from the most recent images of her attacking him, to when Falco had beaten him, to his time in Aranthol…She needed to get further back.
She forced her way through his mind, and some part of her could hear his audible screams, but she knew they did not matter. She trailed over hazy memories of his time recruiting mercenaries. She found every memory of speaking with Hydo and Hanson after Falco took the Blade. She lived through each, playing them over again and again before her, searching for clues. She found nothing, and sliced through several more memories. She felt him struggling beneath her, she could hear him screaming her name, but it did not sound like him…
She ignored it, pushing harder, faster. She saw him speaking with Hanson before Falco had ever arrived, before he knew of her deceit. The memories gave her no information—no mention of a plan, no word of her son. She knew she had gone too far back to find anything of value. She didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t Hanson have rescued him?
“Jessop!”
She was vaguely aware of the sensation of flying. Someone had jolted her from Kohl. She landed with a heavy thud, rolling several feet away, losing her grasp on Kohl’s mind. She blinked several times as she regained her focus. Falco was kneeling beside Kohl, his hand on Kohl’s forehead.
“Jessop, what were you doing to him?” he asked, assessing Kohl’s wounds.
She looked from Kohl to Falco, but did not care to answer. “Have they found him? Is he back?”
Falco stood slowly, and shook his head—no.
Jessop felt the tears brimming and leapt to her feet. “Hanson would have come for him—not Jeco. Why is he not here? Where has he taken our son?”
She closed the gap between herself and Falco in an instant and struck him with all her might. He swayed under her forceful hit. “We will find him.”
“Where is he, Falco? Where!” She pounded her fists against his chest, barely aware of the echoes of her screaming, her face numb as tears trailed down her cheeks, her throat on fire. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
He grabbed her hands and tried to restrain her, but it was to no avail. Her sorrow could not be contained. “Find him! I want him back. I want him back now.”
“Hanson took your son?”
The question, barely audible, slurred with blood, was voiced by Kohl. He was propped up on his arms, staring up at her through blood and his own tears.
“Don’t pretend—” Jessop lunged at him, but Falco held her back.
Falco held her still. “He isn’t pretending, Jessop. We have both searched his mind.”
“I…I can help. Let me help,” Kohl mumbled, getting back up to his knees.
“You’ve done enough—” she began, but Falco cut her off.
“How can you help, brother?”
* * * *
“The tavern owner’s name is Derox, and there’s no way he will meet with you,” Kohl explained, sitting on the edge of the bed in the medic’s ward. He had been instructed to hold a white garment that smelled distinctly of alcohol against his face for several minutes.
“He’ll meet with me or I’ll cut him limb from limb,” Jessop spoke. The soldiers had found nothing, the Hunters had found no one, the guards had turned up empty handed. The streets were still being overturned, and everyone in the Blade had been rounded up and their whereabouts accounted for—Urdo was conducting the mind searches personally, checking for anyone who may have crossed paths with Hanson that morning. At this stage, Kohl was their best bet.
“They won’t meet with just you. Derox doesn’t do business with women. An opportunity to meet with Falco Bane, on the other hand…” Kohl explained, looking up to Falco.
“It’s not business.” She felt Falco’s hand on her back, his attempt to support her. She shrugged it off.
Falco crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Where can I find him?”
“I’ll take you to him, brother,” Kohl answered, lowering the white material from his cheeks. To Jessop’s amazement, Kohl’s wounds had healed. Gone were the bruises and cuts inflicted on him, first by Falco and then by Jessop. She listened to how Falco and Kohl spoke with one another—as though their brotherhood had been reinstated. Had it been her words, or Hanson’s actions? She did not know and it did not matter then. All that mattered was Jeco.
“Then let’s go,” Jessop snapped.
* * * *
The streets had descended into utter chaos. Dezane and Falco’s soldiers had stopped every passerby, turned over every kiosk, emptied out every building in search of Jeco. The street merchants lined the walls of their buildings, waiting to be interrogated. Women holding their own children, obviously concerned, waited outside their homes, allowing their belongings to be violently overturned. Jessop spotted several Hunters as they made their way, on foot, through Azgul. They were searching minds and interrogating passersby indiscriminately.
She hadn’t traversed the Red City on foot since her first arrival there, in the days before she met Kohl. With crimson dirt dusting her boots and her eyes narrowing in the red sky and scarlet tinted city, she did not find any renewed sense of love. It was not her city—it was not her home. She would tear it to the ground in order to find Jeco.
“Jessop, can you slow down?” Kohl complained, winding a corner to catch up with her. “You don’t even know which direction—”
Before he finished his sentence, she turned on him, pivoting tightly on her heel. She locked eyes with him and entered his mind quickly, searching for the tavern owner by name. As she found an old recollection—an introduction between an insalubrious looking bald fellow and Hanson—she found the location of the tavern quickly. She freed Kohl’s mind from her grasp, ignoring the pained look on his face, ignoring the concern in Falco’s eyes, and turned back to the street ahead.
With quick waves of her arms, kiosks went flying out of her way, crates exploded at her feet, doors flung open and windows shattered. Falco and Kohl stayed on her heel, quick to dodge the shrapnel her rage created. She wanted every Azguli to be terrified, to look upon her and know nothing but fear. She wanted them to be so afraid they would never dare cross her, so afraid they would never consider helping Hanson Knell or Hydo Jesuin take her child out of the city walls. She wanted to see their tears, to know they cowered—she wanted to see the very fear that she felt manifest in the people Falco ruled over.
She took a sharp corner and found herself looking at a dark scarlet-painted door. She recognized it from Kohl’s mind. With a swing of her hand and a jolt from her mind, the door flung open, ripping off its hinges and sliding into the dark corridor. She waited for no one, stepping into the tavern without hesitation.
Despite the exterior, the inside of the tavern was quite modern. The bar was made entirely of shining metals, welded neatly together. The floors were a pristine white stone. The lights overhead were tuck
ed into the ceiling tightly, emitting pointed blue rays in every odd direction. Five men were drinking throughout the room, several sitting at a table, two at the bar. Her eyes immediately fixed to the man behind the bar, though. He was bald, with a blue sword inked down the middle of his scalp. He was twice Jessop’s age and had dark eyes. He was the man from Kohl’s mind—he was Derox.
At her gruff entrance, the five men got to their feet, clearly loyal to their patron. Falco held out his hand, instantly paralyzing them all. As he clenched his fist, each man fell to his knees, helpless under his control. “We are here to speak to Derox,” he announced.
The bald man with the blue inked sword came slowly around the side of the bar. “Falco Bane, I’ve been meaning to send my respects on the new dominion. Many of us have waited a long time to see you in power.”
“We have no time for your flattery, Derox,” Jessop hissed, narrowing her eyes on him.
“Your Hunter friend might have warned you, woman, I don’t deal with the weaker sex,” he barked angrily, barely looking at her.
Jessop moved so quickly none could forecast her actions. With an aggressive flick of her wrist, she had flung her short blade into Derox’s thigh. The man growled in pain, buckling forward to support his wounded leg. Jessop spun on her ankle, turning her body low, and kicked the tavern owner square in the chest. He flipped back and landed on his bar. She closed the space between them with a large step, and ripped her blade free from his thick flesh. She brought it to his neck, “In this room, you are the weaker sex.”
Despite all the hatred in his eyes, she saw also fear. He had heard of her, and now he witnessed her abilities to be true to the claims. She pressed the bloody point further against the soft skin of his throat. “What do you know of what happened today?”
He managed to look past her still, focusing on Falco instead of her. “I know nothing about today. You’re the ones who have turned the city over for who knows what.”
Falco took a step closer to them both. “Derox, it goes largely without saying, but my wife will slit you from that oozing thigh to your thick throat, and I will keep you alive long enough for her to do it again and again. Where is my son?”
