Page 33 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals
I curl up, wheezing with pain, and Devilry runs out the door. If I had to guess, she’s headed to the tower, to the observation room she mentioned.
Groaning, I roll onto my back and lie still, staring at the glossy dark beams of the ceiling and the fanciful paintings between them. Here and there, the ubiquitous eyes of the fortress blink at me.
We’ve torn this place up worse than I expected, which makes me a little uneasy. I don’t usually mind mayhem, but this is Faerie. Who knows what has emerged from the destroyed rooms? I can’t imagine the Stewards of Annordun will take it well once they discover what we’ve done. With my luck, the ever-watching eyes in the walls of this place have some way of recording what happens here. They’ll bear witness against us.
Unless… unless I destroy the observation room. Maybe I can shut down the eyes from there. Yes, that’s where I should head next. I’ll take control of the surveillance system, I’ll figure out how it works, and I’ll use it just like Devilry has. First, I’ll speak to the two remaining members of my team and tell them where to meet me. Then I’ll destroy whatever spell or object controls those fucking eyes.
After that, Grisly, Slaughter, and I will join up, hunt down Drosselmeyer’s collection, take as much as we can, and get out of Faerie.
“Come on, Ravager,” I tell myself. “Get up.”
But my body likes this recumbent position far too much. It flat-out refuses to move.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Just a couple more minutes.”
Before I follow Devilry to the tower, I’m going to take a well-earned fucking break.
8
I didn’t kill him.
I should have fucking killed him.
I slam the door of the tower room and stumble across the floor to the map table, where I can activate the shields for the doors. There’s got to be a shield for the observation room as well. If I can seal the door and lock myself safely inside—
“Well, well, well.” A burly figure emerges from the shadows. It’s Slaughter, the man who got cursed by my flame trap. One of the two murderous cousins.
I ease my knife out of its sheath. My gaze flicks over him, gauging the threat he poses. His size is dangerous, of course,even to someone with my training. He doesn’t seem to have a pack or weapons anymore, but anything could be concealed in the leather compartments along his belt.
It’s hard to take him seriously, though. He’s covered in bloody cuts and bruises. His hair is glopped into clumps thanks to the bucket of milk I rigged up in the room with the west window. What’s left of his ragged clothes is a sodden mess of soft butter, honey, and feathers.
Despite the rage on his face, I can’t help a tiny giggle at his appearance.
“How did you make it up here?” I ask. “The traps—you should have been stuck in that stone paralysis snare.”
“Oh, I was,” he rumbles, his Vexxan accent thickening with his anger. “I’ve been on the second floor, frozen like a statue, with feathers in my mouth. Then that explosion happened. The magic holding me fizzled out and I got free. It came with a cost, though.” He points to his face. “I lost three more of my teeth.”
I cock my head. “At least the right side matches the left one.”
His face reddens between the purple bruises. “I’ve got you now, you little cunt-rag.”
He lunges, but he’s limping, so I’m able to dart aside. Screeching his anger, he snatches up one of the spheres and hurls it at me.
I’m too tired, too slow. The orb glances off the side of my head, and I’m thrown off balance. A second orb crashes into my chest with such force that my knife flies from my hand and I choke, gasping from the pain.
Slaughter attacks me, shoving me to the floor, wrapping coils of pliant wire round and round my throat. I didn’t even see the wire; he must have been palming it. There are tiny spikes along its length, and when I start to struggle, they graze my skin sharply, threatening to pierce. Horrified, I freeze.
“That’s right, whore. Be still.” Slaughter gives me a horrible, gap-toothed smile. “I’m your master now. You’ll do what I say, or bleed out.”
After searching me and tossing away my remaining knives, he stands up, holding the ends of the wire but keeping them lax. As long as I don’t twist or move away, I won’t cut my own throat… yet.
“Tell me how the communication works,” he says. “How can I find the others in my crew? How can I talk to them?”
When I remain silent, his fingers twitch, and the tiny spikes on the wire poke into my flesh, not tearing my skin yet, but almost.
“The spheres,” I say hoarsely. “They’re connected to the eyes. Look into them to find your people. Twist the ornament at the top to enable the transfer of sound.”
“It’s good to know that you have enough sense to do as you’re told. I’m going to contact my boys, and then we’ll talk about where you put the Doras Álainn. Torturing it out of you will be the highlight of my day.”
