Page 32 of Untempered
“Well, mayhap they understood the terms differently,” Kadan drawled. “I have it on excellent authority that an assassin left Audrey’s rooms in the company of one of the Butcher’s Blackguard and in poor condition, and there’s been a change in the hierarchy of his people.”
I tightened my jaw to hold back the demand for information.
“He suspects them?” Luca asked, like a hound distracted by a butterfly while the quarry grazed nearby.
He didn’t suspect his men, though. Not really. But he’d be looking to lay blame. I looked at the plain walking stick Luca had found. It had authentic dings in it where it’d fallen, the base of it worn smooth and compacted from long use. I hoped whoever he’d got it from could afford an upgrade for what Luca had paid. If he’d stolen it, I’d be disgusted.
A knock on the door came, and Luca fell silent, removing himself from sight immediately. I cracked it open, ignoring the stab of pain in my chest the movement earned. Whilst I had the excuses that came with the late hour at the ready, I didn’t need them. Darrius stood there, his linen shirt rolled up to mid-forearm, his sandy hair only slightly neater than his son’s unruly mop. I shifted to let him in.
“How’re you, Chay?” he asked, stepping in. “I’ve barely had a chance to see you these last few days. There was a lovely horse blanket that would look fabulous on Bliksem in the market today, but I was sidetracked before I could pick it up. I sent Toby for it, but he got one with too much purple.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” I assured him. “But I have blankets.”
He snorted, but didn’t engage in the argument, shutting the door firmly behind him. I knew damned well it’d be among my gear next time I went to saddle Bliksem. “If Luca isn’t here, we need to consider how the hells to get him here,” Darrius said to his son, pouring himself a tall juice. “Gates don’t open until dawn, and trying to force our way would be too obvious, so we’ve a few hours to hide him and figure out a plan.”
Luca reappeared from Kadan’s room. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking between the two of them.
Darrius, without any sign of surprise, said, “Victor has one of your assassins.”
“They aren’tmine,per se,” Luca said. “’Dan was just telling me. My chambers are being guarded, and I was followed today, but it’s all unobtrusive. It might even be security.”
Kadan snorted, his head falling back. “The assassin knows you, Luca,” he said.
“I wore a disguise,” he objected.
“You know who the Worgs are,” Darrius said, serious where Kadan was irreverent. “That’s why you chose them. I’d bet your life that they know exactly who you are.”
This made Luca pause.
I realized that as he hadn’t asked if Audrey was hurt either of the times the surviving assassin had been mentioned, and hadn’t commented on her absence, he probably had reason. I wasn’t accustomed to putting my trust in Luca, but I needed to practice.
“Who did they catch?” he asked, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They sent only their best. Even if theydoknow who I am—and that’s probably likely, you’re right—they’d only hurt their own people if I were exposed.”
“They took Ylva Wuurgard.” Darrius said the name with a heaviness that made me check Kadan’s expression, and I saw his eyes flutter briefly closed, his brow knitted. He wasn’t a pious man; when his lips formed words, they were an expletive.
The Butcher had gotten lucky, and we had not, then.
“She won’t talk,” Luca said shortly. “That woman’s made of steel. They don’t survive the South if they aren’t.”
For just a moment, I was a child in a body as big as most adults, behind a full tavern, my head ringing from a blow to my skull and mud between my fingers. “How’s he still up?”The disembodied voice came from somewhere behind me. “How’s he still up?”But deep in my bones, I had the sure knowledge that if I went down and they took the coin I had, then I’d never get out of that mud. And the desperation that flooded my veins was molten steel.
“Victor breaks everyone,” Darrius said softly while I kept my breathing measured, waiting for the rush of feelings to cool. “Everyone,Luca. There is no steel that cannot be shattered, and the tougher the alloy, the more brittle the product.”
I flexed my hands to feel the lack of mud between my fingers. I’d never had this lecture from Darrius, not about myself. I’d never needed it. I’d seen the proof of once-sharp, twice-broken people everywhere I’d looked in life.
“Steel is an analogy,” Luca told him dismissively. “She isn’t too brittle, and even if shewasn’ttough, how would it serve her now? The point isn’t your excellent and, I’m sure, very wise lesson about strength, Darrius. What I wanted to communicate was that the Wuurgard heir won’t talk. It would cost her too much.”
Heir. He’d said heir. He’d sent a Southern heir to their long, painful death at the Butcher’s hands. And, at the same time I was struggling with that thought, the man’s disregard for softness was worming its way into my mind.
Neither realization felt any better than that mud between my fingers.
“I doubt much will serve her now,” Darrius said, grief in his voice. “I’m seeing if I can get someone in to give her mercy, but I expect he’ll be prepared for that. Shewilltalk, Luca. There is nothing Victor will not do in pursuit of his goals, and if that means re-starting her heart a dozen times, he already has a mage prepared to do that.”
The depths of that level of control made my belly knot, and I could feel my blood drum faster. I forced myself to hold my hands relaxed and didn’t allow my breath to hasten.
At least death had always been an escape option for me. The Butcher didn’t even allow that. Not until it was on his terms.
I thought, again, of the woman who’d taken me to the ground, the clarity of her whiskey gaze, the way she’d impatiently shaken the ribbon from her hair under the guise of naming me her champion, all so she could pass on a warning I should never have needed. My mouth was a desert.
