Then there’s me. My head still hurts, which only pisses me off more. Rage hastens my steps, burning hot in my veins. I’ve felt this rage before, when my mother was killed. The reminder makes the struggle to cope with all the emotions bubbling to my surface tonight that much harder. I only know that, from what I saw in the waters before we left the inn, the Collector is being held in what seems like an underground room, hands chained to a rock wall. He’s being beaten, badly, and if I must scour this entire city, somebody is going to pay.
We turn down a shadowed, dusty street that leads toward a cemetery and village consisting of crude little houses, their slanted rooftops covered in red tiles, their white facades dimly lit by lantern light. That’s all that’s here, though, tucked away in a grove of cedar trees near the western sea wall, all quiet for the night.
Hel nudges me as we pass a couple of roaming, hungry dogs. “He’s going to be all right.”
“He is,” Rhonin adds. “That man has been through worse than this.”
I’m glad Hel and Rhonin are here—Rhonin wouldn’t let me and Nephele out of his sight—but I’m not so sure my friends are right. The Collector looked wicked and daring as death, grinning with bold defiance as they struck him time and time again, his face bloody, his eye swelling. But everyone suffers from pain when there’s enough doled out. And if they decide to kill him? To take his head? Even a curse of immortality cannot save him from that.
The thought makes my entire body burn, and my heart—my heart—it feels like a hot coal inside my chest, as though I could become a living flame from all my rage.
“I can’t gather what they mean to get out of him,” Hel says. “If anything, they should listen and help if they care at all about their homeland.”
“Unless they have other word that the prince is in motion for an attack,” Rhonin says, “there’s little reason to believe the Collector. Certainly not enough to allow him into their sacred citadel to meet the queen. They’re probably pounding him in hopes he’ll reveal the truth about why he’s in Itunnan and how you two moved one of their men from the bazar to the granary in the blink of an eye. We killed one of their men too, so there’s likely revenge at play.”
We didn’t kill one of their men. Joran did.
He must sense my pointed glare on the back of his silver head because he glances over his shoulder, at me, with that cold stare. “Let’s get off the road.”
We follow him into the Aki-Ra cemetery, dotted with crowded, crooked tombstones, the curve of land crowned in the center by a weathered mausoleum.
“If we find him,” Joran says, pausing near the tomb, “you all need to understand that we might not get out. We’re walking into Viper territory, where the enemy can lock down any power we may have, not to mention that we’re probably going to be surrounded, quickly, by hundreds more of them.”
“They must have a weakness,” Rhonin says. “Everybody does.”
“Orlena said that when they immobilize magick, it takes a great amount of energy,” Nephele says. “The stronger the magick, the more energy required, which is quite typical. They must concentrate much effort on the magick caster.”
“That’s why there are so many of them,” Joran says. “Safety lies in their number. If one immobilizes a gifted witch or sorcerer, he may feel the drain of that power, but his brethren can always help afterward.”
“So what do we do?” Hel asks.
“Perhaps you send in the magickless human,” Rhonin replies.
We all turn toward him. He stands beneath the moonlight, his red hair cast a darker shade in the night.
Hel tenses her hands. “And me.” She glances at the rest of us. “I’m not magickal. Not really. I can whip up a little fire here and there if I try hard, but I’m not going into a fight using magick as my main defense.” She touches the dagger hilt at her hip. “I’m going in ready to cut someone down with a blade.”
“These are highly trained killers,” I sign, staring between her and Rhonin. “And you do not have swords to swing. Only daggers.”
“I’m aware,” Hel replies. “Rhonin and I aren’t too terrible in a fight, though.”
“I will not let you face that alone,” I sign.
“Then come with us,” Rhonin says.
When everyone looks at him again, this time it’s with disbelief.
He shrugs. “We’ll create a distraction. Hel and I can get Raina in. Nephele stays out here. If Vipers must focus on the magick caster to paralyze their magick, then we just don’t let them see her. It’s that simple and that hard. We walk in wrapped in one of her shielding constructs, we free Alexus, and then Raina breezes the three of us out of there. We just have to cling to the hope she doesn’t drop us in the middle of the desert.”
I give him a look from the corner of my eye, and he smiles.
“That’s actually a good plan, Rhonin,” my sister says. “If I build the construct correctly, it will let me sense her, like when she was in Frostwater Wood. I’ll know when she’s gone.”
“And then you and I can leave,” Joran says, elbowing my sister. “See? You didn’t need me after all, now did you?”
She glares at him. “I do need you. We all do. We still don’t know where he is. We need you to locate him before sending these three in for a rescue attempt. There are hundreds of homes here.”
Joran rubs his hands together. Though he glances toward the sea of rooftops in the near distance, we all know his next words are aimed at Nephele. “I suppose that means you aren’t too worried if I make it out alive.”
