Thorne strode within reach, and the bird-beast hopped to the ground. Its bone scythe talons clicked on the cobblestone.
And Thorne didn’t look surprised. They stood side-by-side. Thorne reached out and casually scratched beneath the beast’s jaw, like a man greeting an old friend. “Easy now.”
Thorne then turned his attention to Augustus’s torn back. Each line burned like a scorching blaze.
“Take a look, Mettius,” Thorne said.
At the end of his chain, Mettius flashed his teeth and met Augustus’s eyes. If not for the chains, they would only have to reach out to touch.
Augustus pushed back onto his feet. He would take this as he was taught to bear everything else in his life—with dignity and strength. His father might be forced to watch, but he would, at the very least, see the man he’d raised.
Thorne forced Mettius to his knees and bent to speak into his ear, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Watch his blood flow, knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
Only two steps away, Taran Phya gave Darian a nod. “Continue.”
The Bladesworn pulled back and let the leather fly forward.
Blinding pain ripped through Augustus, and this time, the heat of blood seeped from his back. In a distant world, his legs sank against his will, and hot tears spilled from his eyes.
“Augustus,” Mettius growled, and maybe he was crying too. Augustus couldn’t see. “It’s all right, son. Hang on.”
Augustus let the words strengthen his legs and spine, and he put one foot on the platform, then the other. He stood and dragged in a breath. “You b-better hope I don’t s-survive this, Phya.”
Phya took those two steps to Mettius’s side, his face mottled with red and his voice shaking with rage. “Or what?”
Mettius ever-so-slowly swung his chin up, up, up?—
Mettius leapt to his feet, a blur of chain and fury. He wrapped the shackle chain around Phya’s neck, gripped him in a headlock, and?—
Snap.
Taran Phya dropped, legs at crooked angles, arms splayed.
The Vorash pushed the man’s head with its large beak. Phya’s head lulled to the side, eyes open and staring forever at nothing.
The Vorash gave a short, piercing wail, then hopped to stand on the dead man’s chest.
Thorne yanked on Mettius’s chain, tripping him away from the body. “Think you’re clever, don’t you?” he spat out.
“I think”—Mettius met Darian’s eyes—“Phya never neglects to add a null and void clause to his contracts upon his own demise.”
Darian tossed the whip and stepped away from Augustus. “That he does.”
Thorne shook his head. “Too bad, Triarius, because this doesn’t help you at all.”
The pirate’s cutlass sang from his scabbard and rose toward the sky.
Augustus screamed as the blade came down.
The Vorash did not flinch.
It smiled.
Selene had underestimated her recent outfit change. Tomas didn’t find her—or didn’t reveal himself, at least—until she was nearly outside the poor district.
He announced himself with a whistled tune. Again, back on the rooftops.
She paused to follow the sound, heart skittering. The piercing song continued, though he remained hidden from view, following her every step.
