I stop talking at her haughty glare. “Shaw, I know,” she says irritably, as if I’m a meddlesome mother. “I will get them out,” her voice is determined, and it lifts my heart inside my chest. “Besides, Shivhai said the Praeceptor isn’t here.”
This should fill me with relief, but I don’t allow it to settle. The Praeceptor has always kept his movements hidden, even from those closest to him. It would be foolhardy to assume we were safely out of his grasp. Not when it reaches through the Darkness, no matter where you are.
“Do you think you have enough weapons?” Worry tinges her voice. Worry that I won’t be able to hold off the soldiers long enough to free the slaves? Or worry for my safety?
I shove the thought aside and pull my face into the arrogant grin that makes Mirren furious. “Don’t worry, Lemming. I need no weapon. Iamone.” It sounds as narcissistic as I intend it to, but it’s also the truth. It is what I was trained to be. Unthinking, unfeeling; hard, dangerous and uncompromising. To spill blood and reign violence. It’s what I am good at. I will yield to no one except the Darkness’ final calling—Death.
Mirren scoffs, the tips of her ears turning a delicious shade of pink. Her eyes haven’t left the cages. The slaves are packed so tightly inside them that the chain wire digs into their soiled skin. Their bones protrude from their malnourished bodies. Some lie prostrate, never to get up again.
It’s a sight I’ve seen many times before, but it never gets any easier. Anguish threatens to wash over me, and I know I would have found my way back here whether or not Mirren pleaded for my help. Rage claws at my throat as I watch a small boy cry out for his mother, a mother he will probably never see again. I will it down, down, down. I feed the abyss until it glows.Wait,I tell it.A few more minutes and I will feed you with blood.
Eight soldiers surround the cage. They laugh and joke, their eyes rarely glancing in the direction of those they guard, indicating they are low level. They’ve been trained to draw blood, but they have not been raised in it. Once Mirren leads them toward me, they’ll be easily dispatched.
The problem is getting fifty malnourished people through the camp without disturbing the higher-level soldiers. Or worse, Cullen himself.
I wonder if he feels my presence here. I often thought as a child that the wind itself whispered its secrets to him, for how else could he have known the things he did? Things he never should have been able to know as a man and not a god. The hair rises on the back of my neck and for a wild moment, I expect him to walk out from behind the cage. To catch me with that cutting gaze and strip me bare.
A flash of a different camp appears before me. A camp set next to a village where homes burned, and children screamed, and bodies—so many bodies. It isn’t now, I know that well, but the smell of burning skin and the coppery tang of blood seem to coat my skin and mouth nonetheless.
He is just a man. No more.
I’ve been repeating this to myself since I was thirteen. I don’t know that I will ever really believe it.
Mirren’s fingers tighten on my dagger. I should say something before we begin; something that shapes the way her bravery makes me feel like crying and the power in her makes me feel less alone, but I have no words. I simply nod and take my leave.
My feet make no noise as I prowl my way through the camp. I was made for shadows and darkness, and they draw me in like I’m one of their own.Come,they say.Become us.
I’m across the camp in no time. I staked out the most strategic place I could find for the fight, which isn’t saying much in the wide-open expanse of the camp, but it’s better than nothing. A roughly hewn storage shed on one side and the stables on the other, with the mountain covering my back. In the small space, the soldiers will be hard pressed to surround me and be forced to fight two at a time.
I pat the daggers that line my legs. Only six. I’d been forced to abandon my bandolier, along with my sword, at the edge of the camp in order to appear unarmed beneath my cloak. Despite what I told Mirren, not nearly enough.
I strain my ears, listening for any signs of disturbance, but all is quiet. This should bolster my confidence since our plan depends on Mirren creating a convincing butquietdistraction, so as not to rouse the rest of the sleeping soldiers, but instead, discomfort settles over me. A twist of the stomach and a pressure on the throat, it feels similar to watching her disappear into the Nemoran wood with that soldier. I don’t like being unable to see her. To know with certainty that she’s safe.
A few seconds pass in disquieted agony and then a relieved breath flies from my lips as she rounds the corner. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion and her hair streams behind her like a gleaming flag as she tears through the darkness. She is sobbing, as she said she would be, but her acting is impeccable and though I know it as false, the sound of it tightens my chest nonetheless.
“Please!” She cries frantically, “Please don’t take me back to him! He’ll kill me!”
Her eyes meet mine, wide but dry even as the sobs rack her body. And trailing behind her are the guards from the gate.
Trained enough to know they need to bring this slave girl back to Shivhai or risk their necks, but not trained enough to know leaving their post is also a death sentence.
I take a slow breath, descending into my abyss. It is calm and dark, and the world recedes as its fire climbs up within me. It heats me from my heart to my fingertips until the only thing I can feel is its raging power. And then I move.
* * *
Mirren
There’s no time to make sure Shaw has occupied all the guards. As soon as I’m past him, I circle back through the camp, my breaths coming in short puffs. I move carefully, like Shaw told me to. I can’t wake any other soldiers. It will be the end of this plan. And of me.
My heart flutters wildly as the cage comes into view. The people inside rear back from me, as if I’m another unknown horror waiting to be unleashed upon them. Their fear grips me, tangling with my own, but I force myself to keep moving. “I’m not here to hurt you,” I say softly, creeping forward. I extract Shaw’s pick. “I want to free you.”
All the sounds of the cage have gone deathly silent as a hundred pairs of eyes gleam in terror.
The man nearest to the cage door shakes his head violently. “You cannot!” His words are heavily accented and the whites of his eyes glint in the darkness. “There is nowhere to go. They will hunt you.”
“Then let them hunt me,” I say and place the pick into the padlock.
“I cannot ask that of you, even for the sake of my people,” the man insists. Everyone else has gone still, looking to him.
