Page 89 of A Courage of the Chosen

Callahan

There’s something immensely satisfying about being proven right, even if the truth makes my blood boil.

I didn’t trust that snake-fuck Hume from the moment I saw him trying to intimidate Elsie in the throne room, and even less so once she removed him from the council. It was the smartest thing to do, but it made it harder to observe him and what he’s been up to.

I’ve been slowly compiling information on him. An engineer by trade, no wielding abilities, but possesses a keen level of intelligence as far as magic is concerned, and smarter than most realize.

The third born in a family that disowned him, because his tastes ran darker than was deemed appropriate to a high-born name. What he did was kept quiet, but secrets always have a way of airing themselves, and it didn’t take much for me to find the details of the Renfrow staff member who suffered at his hands, the scars she still carries from the experiments he did on her. And the unmentionable things he forced her to do with him.

Hume was protected by his name, but they cut all ties with him once the matter was dealt with. The rest of the Renfrows attend court but refuse to acknowledge him when he’s there.

He’s tried to hide his past, removing his name from as many places as he can to work in secret. But I’ve been living in the shadows for a long time, and know exactly how to find the things people want to keep hidden.

For the last three nights, I’ve had Hume followed by Kerr, one of the young men that came with us from Morven, and there’s now enough evidence against him. Stealing flame creeper weapons, sending the details of our plans to Raghnall, the routes our supply wagons would take, and who-knows-what else he’s been sharing.

Kerr hasn’t reported on Hume’s movements since the night Elsie told the world who she is, which is highly unusual for him, so we decided it was time to intervene.

The sun set a while ago, with Brodie and I crouched in the shadows tucked down the side of a house opposite Hume’s home. There are a small number of guards with us, a mix of ours, and soldiers from the royal army.

Only two lights remain in the downstairs windows, and when Hume draws the curtains a little past eleven, I give Brodie the cue to move.

The ten Seelie behind me unsheathe their weapons to the tune of metal rasping out of leather, and I grip my own sword tighter in my hand.

Brodie takes half of the unit round the back of the house so we can cut off Hume’s escape if he tries. Not that he’ll get far, but we have next to no idea what we’ll be walking into.

“On me,” I grunt to the remaining soldiers, and together we hop over the knee-high fence without disturbing the iron gate that would likely give away our arrival.

My magic bubbles beneath the surface, and I release some of the pressure by allowing mist to coil around my hands and forearms.

Brodie whistles a tune we’ve used thousands of times, a signal that he’s in position. The smile on my face is wicked and vengeful, and only grows when the lock on Hume’s door caves beneath my booted foot with a satisfying crunch.

We burst inside, swords raised as the dark hallway opens on either side to sitting rooms that are filled with furniture but show no sign of the man we’re here for.

Or so we thought.

The slimy shit is quiet and fast, sneaking up behind a guard at the back, and plunging a dagger into the soft spot between his neck and shoulder where a major artery runs.

The Seelie is dead before he even hits the ground.

“You’ll have to be better than that, General,” Hume seethes.

He flits between the other four that swing at him, deftly avoiding the chains of mist I launch in his direction.

Hume sprints toward the stairs just as Brodie explodes from the kitchen with a snarl. “Nowhere to go now, fuckface,” he goads.

Hume barks a laugh, his back against the paneling along the stairs. “That’s what you think.”

He leans his weight into the wood, and a hidden door swings open, encasing our target in a penetrating darkness as his devilish cackle rings from within.

“You’re welcome to come and get me,” he chimes, as though it’s a fucking game.

Brodie darts after him without hesitation, not considering what might be down there. I’m not cautious when it comes to a fight, but I take a bit longer than he does to think about my next move. I plan, whereas he’s more of a ‘punch now, think later’ type.

“For fucks’ sake, Brodie!” I yell.

He grunts as metal meeting metal rings out. “You might wanna . . .” he barks a curse. “Get your arse in here.”

I launch myself down the stairs two at a time, and enter a substantial basement that spans the entire footprint of the house, only interrupted by the thick beams supporting the ceiling.