“You clearly want to live,” he says, “and I’m not here to take that from you, but I will if you make yourself my enemy. So you have two options, Inana Westwood.”
I shudder at the sound of my name leaving his lips for the second time.
“Both options start the same. I’ll get off you, and you will get changed with your companions. When you exit the dressing room, you will make one of two choices. Your first is to run, though I suggest you start by walking unless you want to give yourself away at once. Unmasked, I won’t recognize you. Not at first, and not among your peers. When you reach the city streets, you can start running as fast asyou wish, but I will follow. I may not know your face, but my shadows will know your taste. I will track you down.”
The snuffling breaths return to the side of my face, and I get the distinct sense of a muzzle nudging my ear, followed by the swipe of something warm and wet.
A tongue.
That was a Shade’s fucking tongue. I didn’t even know theyhadtongues. Or voices, for that matter.
I can’t stop the whimper that climbs from my throat as his threat is made clear. Run, and his shadows will hunt me down. Easily.
The Shadowbane speaks again. “Your second option is the one I suggest. Leave the dressing room and stand before me. Meet my gaze with your unmasked face. You will leave the city with me willingly.”
Leave…the city? So he won’t turn me over to Nalheim’s prince, but to another Sinless? Dread opens a hollow pit in my gut as I consider facing the duke I already escaped.
My former fiancé.
The love of my life.
Until he became my enemy.
How cruel a fate would it be to let him finish the job of taking my heart? I’d sooner die by any other hand, even the Sinless King’s.
“I’m not taking you to your death.” His grip doesn’t lessen, but his voice loses its harshest edge. “Not in this option. You won’t be coming with me as my captive but as my Summoner.”
My mind stumbles over the last part. “What the fuck is a Summoner?” I manage to mutter, my words muffled against my crooked mask.
“An artist.Myartist.” That doesn’t explain shit, but he continues on as if it does. “Give me six months of service, no more and no less. Afterward, I promise I’ll put you on a ship myself, see to it that you leave the Holy Continent a free woman.”
Shock ripples through me at his words. Not only is he admitting there’s a way off the continent, a prospect only spoken of in whispers by those of us with nothing left to lose, but his choice of words has my pulse hammering.Leave the Holy Continent. Free woman.He probably used those terms deliberately to stir my hope, but I must admit, it’s working. Gods, it’s working.
Normally when people talk about what lies across the sea, they use words likeexile, damned,orwarmongering devils.For regular citizens, leaving the Holy Continent would be a punishment, as this is the only land protected by the Sinless. But for outlaws, we know we’re living on borrowed time. Hiding under false names can only take us so far. We can never rise beyond the bottom rungs of society without risking discovery for who we really are. I’ve never heard of anyone surviving as an outlaw for more than ten years, and those are the luckiest ones. Sooner or later, death catches us, by the hands of the law, the Sinless, or the Shades.
The Shadowbane speaks again. “Cross me and I’ll kill you. I have no need for your bounty, but I do require a Summoner. Take my offer or run, but if you choose the latter, know it will be your last time running from me. I will not give you this chance again.”
With that, he releases my hand, my arm, and eases what must be his knee from my back.
Every instinct screams at me to flee, but I’m still reeling from his threats and his offer of freedom. Plus, I don’t doubt what he said; he won’t let me go again, and should I choose to run now, he’ll have me pinned down in a matter of seconds. If I want to escape him, I’ll have to play along with his first option. Retreat to the dressing room. Doff my robe and mask. Leave with the other performers. Then flee the city and run until he catches me, led by that snuffling shadow monster he commands.
I blow out a heavy breath, fighting that incessant urge to dart down the hall at once. Instead, I rise unsteadily to my feet, straightening my mask to ensure my face is still covered.
The Shadowbane lifts both hands, palms forward, and steps back until several feet of space stretch between us. The light from the nearest sconce brightens half his face. His dark gaze remains locked on mine, but there’s no threat there. No cruelty. Only curt demand. “Make your choice.”
I can hardly process the mess in my mind to make a choice right now, but at least my first step has already been decided for me. The promise of a respite from the Shadowbane propels me toward the dressing room.
As Rockefeller opens the door for me, he places a hand on my shoulder. Keeping his voice low, he says, “Whatever you do, please don’t run.” I meet his eyes to find a flicker of pleading in them. Is he pleading for his own safety or mine?
The dressing room is silent as I enter, all eyes trained on me. With slow steps, I make my way to the rack of robes, which is already full of everyone else’s attire. It seems I’m the last to get changed. Wary looks follow my every step, as do half-hearted sentiments.
“Are you…”
“Did he…”
“Does he know who…”
No one can finish their questions, because no one can afford to truly care. There’s a reason none of us are friends, only cold acquaintances. When one of us fucks up, the rest risk being guilty by association. I’ve been on their side of this scenario before. Each time, I averted my gaze, held my tongue, and thanked the gods I was spared.
