Jericho stood, bare from the waist up. He held a crimson-stained cloth to his side. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and several glasses sat on the table.
Jericho paled as I stalked forward. “Cas—”
I grabbed his arm, pulling it from his side as I mentally repeated what Kieran had told me outside the Three Jackals. Don’t kill him. Don’t murder him. Don’t unalive him. I gave the ragged wound a brief once-over. My lips twisted into a satisfied smile. She had gotten him good, right up under the rib, too.
Likely hit an organ. The wound was already healing, though, barely seeping blood at this point.
“You’ll live,” I bit out, lowering the hood of my cloak. The blond mortal swallowed nervously as he got a look at my face. Lev was his name, I believed.
There seemed to be a collective release of breath from those around the candlelit chamber.
“I will.” Jericho tossed the bloodied rag onto the table. His scruffy chin lifted. “Wasn’t expecting her to have a blade on her. A bloodstone dagger with wolven bone, at that.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to attempt to take her,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“I know,” he admitted, at least not attempting to lie. “There were no other guards close by. I saw an opportunity and acted on it.”
My hand curled into a fist, and I forced it open. “I didn’t ask you to look for opportunities.”
Jericho nodded, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth. “I fucked up.”
“You did.” Aware of Kieran moving closer to my right, I reached for the bottle of whiskey. “And…you didn’t. You did what I asked.” I jerked my chin at the chair. “Sit.”
Jericho was listening to me now, sitting his ass right down.
“You opened the spot for me.” I poured a shot’s worth of whiskey into a glass. “And for that, I am grateful.”
The wolven eyed me from behind the lengths of his shaggy hair.
Kieran inched even closer.
“You sure about that?” Jericho asked, resting both of his forearms on the table.
“I am. Now, I will be able to proceed correctly and safely with our plan.” I set the glass in front of him.
“Drink. You’ve earned it.”
Relief seeped into his features, easing the tension in the set of his jaw. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the glass.
“One thing.” I smiled, and he halted. “You’re right-handed, correct?”
“Yeah.” Wariness skittered across Jericho’s features. “Why?”
“Just curious,” I told him, nudging the glass closer to him. “Drink.”
I watched him reach for the glass. Kieran realized what I was about a second before I moved. He cursed under his breath, but I was faster. Reaching inside the cloak, I unsheathed one of the short swords. Jericho hadn’t even picked up the glass—he didn’t see it coming. All he felt was the clean, quick slice of my blade as I brought it down on his left wrist, severing his hand. Blood spurted, spraying across the table.
“Holy fuck,” someone gasped.
Jericho jerked back so quickly he knocked over his chair as he stared at where his hand had once been.
“The next time, do as I order, not as you see fit. We need the Maiden unscathed when I take her.
Disobey me again, and it will be your head.” I looked around the room, meeting stares. “That goes for everyone.”
There were quick nods of agreement.
Jericho began to scream.
Stepping back, I cleaned the blade of my sword on my cloak as Jericho doubled over, pressing his arm to his chest as his howls became pitiful whimpers. I sheathed the sword, then reached for the cloth Jericho had been using. “You’re going to need this.” I tossed it at him, then turned and left the room.
Kieran followed, stepping out into the hall. I looked over at him. He’d stopped, his arms crossed over his chest. “What?” I questioned. “I didn’t kill him, and I poured him a drink.”
Kieran’s lips twitched.
“I wanted to do much worse,” I reminded him.
He sighed. “I know.”
“I want him gone from the city,”
I said. “Send him to New Haven.”
“Will do.” Falling quiet until we reached the outside, Kieran then asked, “How in the hell did she get her hands on a bloodstone dagger crafted with wolven bone?”
“Damn if I know.” I stopped near where the man had been passed out upon our entry, but he was now gone. A heartbeat passed. “She had it with her the other night at the Red Pearl.”
“Really?” He drew out the word.
I nodded. “Shocked the piss out of me. She said she knew how to use it.” I tilted my head. “Guess she does to some extent.”
Kieran shook his head as he turned his stare to the moon. “A Maiden with a wolven-bone dagger and, at the very least, no fear when it comes to using it?” One side of his lips tipped up. “Why do I have a feeling we may have underestimated her?”
I let out a short, low laugh.
“Because I think we did.”
A GOOD MAN
The rites of
death in Solis weren’t all that different from those held in my home. Performed either at dusk or dawn, the bodies were carefully wrapped and then set on fire as it was recognized in both kingdoms that what remained upon death was nothing more than a shell. The soul had already moved on to the Vale or the Abyss, depending on what kind of life one lived.
The Ascended hadn’t completely butchered that, at least.
The main differences were that those who stood in attendance as the sun began its climb above the Undying Hills, its bright glare reflecting off the black stone of the Temple walls celebrating Rhahar, the Eternal God; and Ione, the Goddess of Rebirth, believed Rhahar was waiting for Rylan Keal’s soul. Rhahar, like Ione and all the other gods, even the King of Gods and his Consort, slept. I had no idea how souls were ushered, but one would think they had some process in place before they went to sleep.
The second difference was that no one representing the Crown was in attendance. At home, the King and Queen, along with the Council of Elders who aided in ruling Atlantia, attended the last rites of all the guards who served them. In other cities, the Lords and Ladies tended to the funerals, paying the respect due to a life either served or ended in service of the kingdom. Here, no one from the Crown attended. Not the Duchess, the Duke, nor the numerous members of Court. Granted, none of them could step foot in sunlight without going up in flames. Of course, they had an excuse for that, claiming they couldn’t walk in the sun because the gods couldn’t.
Which had to be the most
uncreative excuse ever.
They could’ve held the funerals at dusk. Or, at the very least, sent Lords and Ladies in Wait, those who hadn’t yet Ascended.
However, they hadn’t.
They didn’t care enough.
I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck as I stood among the other guards, fully aware of the hypocrisy of my irritation regarding the Blood Crown’s lack of respect when I was attending the last rites of a man whose death I’d ordered.
One who was said to be good.
Who didn’t deserve to die.
Whose blood would forever stain my hands.