Eacon was right, I need this, and I needed to experience it without the interference of the Scorpions and theiryou’re one of usagenda. I offer Rink and Eacon a small smile, and their own feral smirks join mine for a moment and then quickly fade away. Like a cloud that’s wandered in front of the moon, darkness overtakes each of us. The lighthearted banter and warmth is shoved into our depths as each of us taps into the savage creatures that we are at our core. I suddenly feel tethered to these fae as though dark sees dark and revels in it, but I set those thoughts aside.
Now, it’s time to hunt.
ChapterThirty-Three
“The trick is not to look at them,” Eacon whispers to me as we keep a swift pace behind Rink. “Treat them like they don’t exist. It helps to move through a crowd unnoticed when you look past the people. Don’t make eye contact unless you have to. It will feel less overwhelming that way,” she continues.
I nod and do my best to breathe through the unease I once again feel as we navigate through a bustling crowd. I do my best to heed Eacon’s advice and look past the other fae all around me as though they’re not there. It’s a difficult trick to see nothing while simultaneously seeing everything, a skill every assassin has to master, or they don’t survive long. I was excellent at it in the ludere, but out here in the realms, it feels entirely different. There’s just so much noise, so many bodies and smells. My training is second nature, but all of these new experiences and exposures require more adjustment than I realized they would. I knew on some level that I’d have to learn and adapt; I just wish I had more time to do that before Eacon and Rink were counting on me.
Apprehension hums in my veins, and I don’t know if it’s steeped more in worry from my unfamiliar surroundings or excitement for what’s coming. No one on the streets or docks pays the three of us any mind as we stride with purpose down several winding paths. I thought our weapons might draw some attention, but I spot plenty of swords and axes sheathed over shoulders, and daggers tucked into belts.
Females and males hock wares and food from carts they pull down the rickety planks of the docks. They weave in and out of the other fae who are unloading cargo or loading supplies. Eacon, Rink, and I blend into the mayhem far better than I suspected we would, and it helps calm me slightly. Expertly, Rink winds us further down to a part of the long, extensive port where the wharfs aren’t as crowded and hectic. The difference in activity and noise is so drastic from what we just trekked through that it’s almost as though this part of the harbor houses sleeping giants that the fae don’t want disturbed.
I’ve never seen a giant, only heard tales of their size and brutality, but the ships that are moored at this end could rival a whole family of the behemoths. They look more like the skeletal remains of small mountains than boats, with their reaching masts and bulging bows. Nets and ropes are tethered to the tops of towering poles, giving the appearance of empty spiderwebs that are eagerly awaiting prey. There are fewer ships down here either anchored out in the harbor or secured to the wide wooden wharfs that stretch out like fingers on a hand. I presume it’s because of their size, but many of the ships on this end look to be more opulent and ornate, so maybe prestige has more to do with it.
The dock narrows, and Eacon files behind Rink to make way for the few others who are traveling in the opposite direction. I take up the end. I keep my eye on the two females in front of me, prepared and alert, but it’s impossible not to be awed by everything else all around.
Massive sails are rolled up and tied off, ready and waiting to be hoisted and driven by the wind. The decks of some of the ships we pass are quiet and surprisingly empty. It’s like they’ve been abandoned, and it makes me want to sneak onto a few of them and explore. Some vessels look newer and fitted with luxurious things I don’t see on other more worn and sea-tested ships. I spot what I think is a royal crest on a flag flapping high above one colossal boat, but we’re moving too fast for me to stop and truly study it.
The distinct sensation of being watched crawls up my neck, and I casually glance over the main deck of a ship as we advance past it. I spot several eyes and faces just barely peeking out from rigging or around a post or railings. It’s as though the crew members are hiding, which seems odd. The eyes earnestly track our movement, and it dawns on me that they very wellmaybe hiding from us. Rink did say something about none of the other vessels wanting a taste of our cooking. The phrase makes me smile, but it quickly drops as we approach the end of the dock and the lone ship that’s floating there.
Rink stops and both Eacon and I do the same.
“Glamour?” Rink asks so quietly that I almost don’t hear it above the water lapping at the wood of the pier.
Eacon stares up at the ship as though she’s listening patiently to it spilling all of its secrets.
“No,” she finally answers. “I want him to see exactly who’s coming for him.”
Eacon pulls in a deep breath and then reaches over her shoulder to the hilt of the sword at her back. She frees the long weapon as Rink plucks a double-bladed ax from her back. I immediately fill one of my palms with a sword and the other with a dagger. Eacon uses a series of hand gestures to tell both me and Rink where she will go on the ship and where we’re expected to go. I’m a little surprised that the hand gestures are familiar—I’d assumed each ludere would use their own signals—but it seems the language of the hunt is universal.
I nod, silently agreeing to clear the main deck as ordered, and then she turns to scan the boat one more time before looking back at both Rink and me. Eacon drags her hand across her throat and then circles her face once in a fluid gesture that spikes my adrenaline.
No survivors. No one gets off this ship alive.
With that, Eacon leads the way to the steep platform that bridges the gap from the wharf to the boat itself. A distant whistle sounds off somewhere behind us, almost like a signal to begin. The incline onto the boat is sharp, but it feels good to ready my muscles for what’s about to happen. Eacon and Rink move like shadows as they slink onto the deck and quickly shift to their parts of the vessel.
The ship creaks as it softly rolls in time with the tides. It’s a strange sensation, the feeling of standing on water instead of land. Planting my feet and bending my knees just slightly, I start to get a rhythm for the way the hull moves as it floats. Eacon glides like a wraith toward what looks to be a large set of quarters at the upper back of the ship, while Rink practically floats to the entryway that leads below. There are several stacked rows of window-like holes in the boat, and I know Rink has her work cut out for her, clearing the lower levels. All too quickly, both of them disappear, and then it’s just me and the bright sun alone on the deck.
I stand there, the warmth of the sun kissing across my skin as I scan my surroundings. I feel him before I hear him. It’s the slightest shift behind me to the side. Maybe it’s the change in air pressure or the tiniest vibration in the wood at my feet that sets my instincts off. Spinning, I barely catch sight of a large male off to the right, but he’s closing the distance between us swiftly with long hurried strides.
“You can’t be on this—” he starts to order, but the dagger in his throat stops his words and his advance toward me mid-step.
Shock fills his dark brown eyes, but he doesn’t go down. Before he can attempt to pull the dagger from his throat and use it against me, I run my sword through his gut. The blade is crafted perfection; it makes me want to sit and watch Curio work for hours on end to see how he does it. With barely any effort, I angle my thrust and lift, halving the fae’s torso as I go until the vitality empties from his eyes and his heart gives way. Grabbing the hilt of my dagger in his throat, I kick the sailor off my blades. I don’t bother wiping blood from the steel or hiding the sailor’s body as I step back to my position in front of the bridge to the deck and wait.
Cool wind plays with the wisps of my hair that have come free from my braid. I breathe in the salty tang of the morning, enjoying the unique flavor on my palate just as muffled shouts and yelling begin to seep up from the wood deck under me. I soak in the fright and surprise I hear, suddenly wishing I was below with Rink and feeding more blood to my blades as we silence screams. Panicked stomping up the stairs on the other side of the entryway Rink disappeared into is the only warning I get before bodies begin to spill out on the deck. Several fae trip over each other in their terrified attempt to escape the horrors below. They fall, inadvertently blocking others from getting free of the stairs while everyone is trying to force their way up.
I’m on the unsuspecting boat crew before they even realize that it’s just as dangerous at the top of the stairs as it is at the bottom. Blood splatters and sprays as I do what I do best, slicing and stabbing and claiming life after life after life. I take souls like they belong to me, like I’m entitled to them for no reason other than I’ve decided that it’s so. All thoughts of right and wrong are wiped clear from my mind. All I can see is the next threat, the next countermove, the next body as it crumples lifeless to the floor of the deck.
My fangs drop as the sweet scent of blood rides the teasing breeze. The cool current carries screams and pleas and the sound of me silencing all of it until I’m standing amidst scattered heaps of bodies, breathing hard. I look around to find that, once again, I’m the only thing alive at the top of the stairs. I search the corpses littering the deck, double-checking that each one has been properly dispatched, like I’ve been trained to do.
Blood and death pool all around me, and I feel more free and alive than I have since I can remember. This, all of this chaos and loss, is because I chose it. I wasn’t forced, threatened, or coerced. I was asked and entrusted, and I showed up in a way that feels right…even if ultimately it’s wrong.
I don’t know whether or not each of these deaths was earned. I can’t say what, if anything, these fae did to deserve a brutal end like this, but as I step from one corpse to the next, retrieving daggers and wiping them clean on the rags of the dead, I find that I don’t truly care.
“Nicely done, Baby Scorpion,” Rink calls from the entryway as she takes in the mess.
I turn and discover she’s covered in gore. Blood drips from loose strands of hair framing her face. The color is no longer golden blonde, but spattered and streaked with deep scarlet. Rink’s face is speckled with ruby drops of death, and what’s soaked into her cream tunic is already drying to a dark reddish-brown. Blood and bits of other things drip from the ax she still has clutched in one hand. She looks like annihilation in its purest form, and it’s beautiful.
