Den shook his head, the look of bored indifference never wavering from his eyes. “I said once.” He stepped out of the ring and took a leash from the wall. “Hands behind your head.”
Faced with the choice of a voluntary compliance or a mage-forced one, Savoy gathered his remaining shreds of dignity and obeyed. The metal clip clicked as Den hooked it into the rings on the wristbands. A hated sound already. He stared straight ahead as Den led him toward the wall where another metal loop protruded from the stone. There was nothing special about that loop, just a common metal circle like hundreds of others found in any city. Found wherever people needed to tie up a horse.
Den threaded the leash through the ring and tied it off at a height too low to allow Savoy to stand, yet high enough that it stretched his joints when he knelt. He looked up to see Pretty’s content gaze and Boulder’s frightened one and hoped that his own reflected an indifference he wished he felt.
It was hours before practice ended and the line of fighters trailed out of the salle. Left alone, Den strode to Savoy.
The promise of relief inflamed the deep ache in his arms and back. The overpowering stretch of his abused shoulder made Savoy count time in breaths. He had kept his face still, and now silently counted down from a hundred to maintain composure through the final moments of punishment.
Den hooked his finger under Savoy’s chin and tipped up his face. “Are you through being cocky?” There was no malice in his voice. Den had disciplined a green boy, no more, no less, and that routine chore evoked no more emotion in him than tiring out an unruly horse would have for Savoy.
Whatever Savoy’s eventual escape would entail, showing up Den in his own salle would not be part of the plan. “Yes.”
“Good.” A moment of silence hung in the air.
Savoy held his breath.
“See you tomorrow, Cat.” Meeting Savoy’s eyes, Den turned away and walked out of the salle.
* * *
Savoy’s labored breaths violated the silence of the night. In the darkness of the salle, his arms, back, and shoulders were aflame, his wrist rubbed bloody against the bands.
He struggled against the ropes. Not from hope of loosening the knots—he knew that was impossible—but because he couldn’t do otherwise. Not in the depth of night, when the remembered smell of blood and piss in a dank dungeon cell filled his memory. Not when fear of something long over visited once more. He struggled, throwing himself against his binds. The hours crept on.
Eventually, he took hold of himself and stopped. A faint blue light from an amulet in the stone cast his shadow onto the sand, keeping him company until morning. A sagging man tied to a wall.
The door to the salle opened, admitting two men. Den carried a lantern, Jasper a bowl.
“Gods, Den, it was his first day.” Jasper set the bowl down and patted Savoy’s shoulder. Behind his glasses, the boy’s large eyes danced. “Poor pup.”
“Unbroken pup. He’ll live.”
Jasper reached toward the wall and untied the rope holding his wristbands. Relief rushed through Savoy’s arms. He collapsed to the floor and cradled his shoulders. Smiling, Jasper pushed the bowl toward Savoy’s knees. Inside, a spoon drowned in a brown mush, stinking of fat and overcooked, saltless meat. A pool of gooey, half-coagulated egg crowned the breakfast’s center.
Food. Savoy grasped the spoon in his fist, ready to swallow without tasting. Cramped muscles trembled. The spoon shook, spilling its contents on the way to his mouth. Globs of warm fat, egg, and meat plopped off and streaked down his chest.
Jasper chuckled. Den did not.
“This won’t do.” Jasper squatted down in front of Savoy, as if addressing a child. “I can Heal. Would you like me to?” Blue glow ignited around his hand. His breath quickened. He was eager.
Den caught the boy’s arm before it extended.
“He can’t train like this,” Jasper said, his voice rising. He stood, fingers curling into a fist simmering in mage fire.
“Yes, he can.”
Savoy tensed. The choice he was about to make, however ignorant, would gain him an enemy. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward Den. “I can train fine, sir.”
Den’s eyes flashed, but his hands and voice remained calm. “Begin by shutting up.”
Jasper’s lower lip trembled. He swallowed and turned away. “I’m the keeper,” he whispered toward the floor. “I decide when a pup needs Healing.” When he turned back, his face was dark. The flame around his hand grew brighter and he gripped Savoy’s bicep.
A rush of energy invaded Savoy’s mind, smashing over his Keraldi Barrier. Savoy didn’t fight it. Experience with Healers had taught him not to.
Jasper’s magic lacked Grovener’s finesse. The young mage didn’t nip Savoy’s barrier as much as rip through it as if with a dull blade. A cry caught in Savoy’s throat, but he clenched his fists and remained silent.
The energy scorched down his nerves, mending the pulls and tears in his shoulders. Savoy relaxed and waited for Jasper to withdraw. Instead, he found a cruel smile tugging the corners of the boy’s lips. Savoy’s mind struggled to raise his Keraldi Barrier, but it was too late.
The boy closed his eyes, and instead of dissipating, the force inside Savoy’s body barreled on. It gripped his lungs; Savoy gasped for breath. It cramped on his diaphragm, and he convulsed, unable to exhale. He reached out to grab the damn mage, but Jasper only chuckled and stepped behind him without breaking contact. The next moment something squeezed Savoy’s stomach. Bile shot up his throat, filled his mouth, and poured out onto the sand.
“Feeling better?” Jasper asked when Savoy finished depositing the contents of his stomach on the salle floor. Thin scorch marks, like a spiderweb of black silk, streaked from the spot where Jasper’s hand had touched him and the mage’s energy had funneled into his body.
Savoy had chosen his enemies poorly.
CHAPTER 29
The alley wall pressed into Renee’s back.
“Looks like I got me lucky,” the man slurred again, wiping his mouth with the hanging hem of his shirt. He approached, reeking of wine, sweat, and tobacco. The light of the alleyway behind him dimmed as the crowd grew—drunkards and gutterscum eager to see a struggle.
Renee sidestepped, but the man’s arm blocked her and trailed across her stomach. When she screamed for help, a damp, calloused hand clamped over her mouth and nose. She gasped and twisted, fighting for air.
“You’ll purr soon enough, wench,” the man slurred. He pushed forward until he sandwiched her to the wall. A pus-oozing pimple on his neck jiggled at her eye level.
“Aw, Nino, we can’t see nothin’,” whined a deep, unsteady voice. Other shouts joined the complaint.
Nino’s free hand grabbed Renee’s hair and jerked her toward the middle of the alley. She fell onto packed dirt, the impact jolting the air from her body. The original half dozen spectators had doubled. Still more trickled in. They encircled her and Nino. His hand groped forward, seizing the front of her tunic, and the fabric bit the back of her neck and tore. The sound of ripping cloth triggered hoots and whistles. Cold air brushed the exposed skin of her right shoulder and breast. Nino grinned, sniffed the cloth in his hand, and advanced again, eyes bloodshot and ravenous.
Renee should have died in childhood. But she had not. Death happened to other people. It happened to enemies, like the guard she killed while rescuing Diam. It happened to good people, like her mother and Riley. But not to her. Yet here it was, staring her in the face. She would die not from an army or a bandit’s sword, but from a mob of cloudy-witted drunks in pursuit of momentary desire. It wasn’t glorious. It wasn’t meaningful. It wasn’t fair.
The thick, sickening crowd swayed before her, crushing any hope she had of escape.
“You are mine,” Nino confirmed, as if reading her thoughts
. “And then theirs.” He grinned up at his friends and then back down at her. His eyes shone. “And then you are dead.”
A memory swam before her eyes. You are dead. Her sword arm tightened in remembered agony and disgrace. That will be the last time anyone here lets go of a weapon, continued the voice in her head, and cold green eyes pinned her. Am I understood?
She recoiled from the memory, suddenly more horrified at finding herself cowering on the ground than by the rotten-toothed men surrounding her. She met Nino’s eyes, accepted the impossibility of escape, and rose into a fighting stance, redefining victory. “As are you.”
She spun. Her foot gained momentum as it cocked under her body and extended into Nino’s gut.
He gasped before roaring obscenities, less imaginative ones than she had learned from the Seventh, and swung at her head.
Ducking the blow, Renee rammed the heel of her hand into the man’s jaw. In her side vision, she saw Nino’s friends approaching the melee, teetering on the line between enjoying the spectacle and wishing for a piece of it. Her time was short. She struck her elbow against his ear just as hands grabbed her from behind. They forced her to the ground. She noticed blood trickling down Nino’s head, and smiled. Then a ham of a fist jammed itself into her nose, and despite the general shouting, she heard the crack of bone.
Renee swallowed blood and continued kicking until the men secured all her limbs. It took four of them to pin her. Nino towered above.
And then came the growl. A menacing, inhuman growl that spoke of blood and shredded flesh. The sea of drunks froze. The growl came again, and the mob parted before a large, white wolf whose teeth shimmered in the dusk. Renee gasped when she met the animal’s savage eyes. For the first time, she truly appreciated what Khavi was.
The dog—no, mage-wolf—stepped toward her. One by one, her captors let go and moved away. Khavi turned and stood guard. Nino too retreated toward the safety of the masses, but the wolf snapped his jaw and Nino froze in place. Renee understood the lout’s fear. Grateful as Renee was for Khavi’s appearance, not even she could bring herself to reach toward his grizzled fur. Rising to her feet, she held closed the flapping tear in her tunic and eyed the crowd.
The wolf licked his teeth and settled onto his haunches beside her. The gathered crowd shifted from foot to foot, but remained where it stood. Maybe they think I’ll get torn to pieces, Renee thought, examining her options. Khavi stretched his nose to the sky and howled.
Time stretched on in impasse until, without warning, Khavi rose and trotted away. Renee swallowed and started after him, but someone grabbed the back of her shirt and by the time she twisted free, the wolf was spans ahead. The mob opened to let him through and closed behind him, all gazes trailing the animal. All except one. Nino’s eyes remained on Renee, his expression contemplative.
The silence that had settled on the alley was short-lived. Within moments, grunts, hoots, and obscene exclamations reclaimed the air. The drunks returned to Renee and she raised her fists, ready for action.
“Renee!” Diam’s high voice ripped through the crowd, sending fresh panic through her. The bloody bond! He had seen through the wolf’s eyes and was now rushing into a drunken mob. She shouted for him to leave, but his voice grew closer and louder.
Her heart raced. The frustration and stupidity that had spurred her sprint through Catar’s alley now endangered the boy it was her duty to protect. The mob would wreck him for sport. And it would be her fault. “No! Go back!” she called. “Run, Diam! Please!”
But the crowd shifted again.
Khavi returned. With Diam.
The boy panted and clung on to the scruff of his wolf’s neck. In his other hand, he clenched a sword much too large for him. Savoy’s sword. “Here. Brought. This.” He gasped the words one by one.
Renee grasped the hilt. A coolness from the steel seeped into her nerves as she examined the alley from behind the weapon’s tip. The circle of unsteady slobs resumed meaningless motion. Nino melted into the crowd and now issued his threats while safely wedged between two well-chosen gorillas.
“Diam,” Renee said, not taking her eyes off the crowd. “Hold on to Khavi and walk out of here just like you walked in.”
“I wanna stay.”
“Me too.” Alec’s voice carried over the dull roar. Elbowing men out of the way, he emerged at Renee’s left and stood by her. Blue flame hugged his hands and wrists, bright against the grim sky.
The departing sun cast long shadows onto the alley ground. Silhouettes of beast, fighter, and mage extended in a triangle in front of Renee. A gust of wind swept her bare skin, but she made no move to cover herself. Her spine lengthened and shoulders settled square atop it, while the rhythmic beating of her heart filled her ears. Drawing a breath, Renee stepped forward and extended her sword to Nino’s throat.
The man attempted to retreat, but the thick crowd left little wiggle room.
“Nino,” she said, enunciating the syllables through the muffle of her broken nose. The sword tip nipped the tender skin over his trachea, and droplets of blood snaked down his neck.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“She’s a wench no better than she ’ot to be, you sod,” sneered a man beside him. The certainty in his voice faded when she turned to him. He reached toward his pocket, but Renee’s sword caught the underside of his wrist. She kept her touch gentle and precise, just as Savoy had taught her, the razor edge of her steel poised along the man’s veins. He froze in place. The wind blew, bringing a whiff of ammonia so potent that even Renee smelled it. Glancing down, she saw urine soak the man’s shoes and trickle into a puddle on the ground.
Shaking her head, she withdrew and sheathed the blade. “Master Nino.” She turned to him. “If we may leave now.”
He blinked twice, then wheeled around on his fellows. “ Out of the way, you sods!” The bodies partied and he turned to her, his knuckles touching his forehead. “Will that do, m’lady?”
“It will do just fine.” She nodded to him, and walked past. Once out of earshot of the crowd, Renee looked down at Diam, her heart pounding once more. “You promised to stay at the inn.”
The boy shrugged with no shred of remorse and Renee sucked in a long, slow breath, the image of what could have been turning her stomach.
At the mouth of the alley, beyond reach of the recent fighting ground, Alec’s mage friends, Jasper and Ivan, feigned invisibility. The latter had turned her practice blade into a torch. Renee eyed him suspiciously.
Alec crossed his arms. “What happened to you two?” His large body dwarfed the two twig-like mages. “You claimed to stay behind me.”
They both looked down, shuffling their feet.
“Well?” Alec leaned against the wall.
Ivan said nothing. Jasper pushed his glasses higher on his nose and pulled off his jacket, offering it to Renee. “Please take it,” he said when she made no move toward it. “It’s the one useful thing I would have done all day.”
“Coward,” Alec confirmed, and Jasper shrank like a kicked puppy.
Renee took the coat still dangling from his hand and slipped it on. “Why didn’t you two turn them all into charcoal?”
“Control in the midst of that mess?” Jasper shook his head. “One knock on the nose like you got and Ivan’d be useless.”
“Can’t you stay far away and . . . ” Renee made a vague motion with her hand.
Jasper snorted. “He might if he were battle trained. But Ivan here’s studying mostly thermal work—can help forge any weapon you want, so long as he doesn’t have to be around when you use it.”
“Didn’t see you rush in either, Jasper,” Ivan shot back.
“I’m a Healer!”
“So am I,” Alec countered. Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “What’s your point?”
“The point”—
Renee stepped between Alec and the boys—“is that they are not fighters, and I am not a mage. You’re the only one who wants to be both. Live with it, Alec.” She turned to Jasper. “Thank you for the coat. I just realized I’m freezing.”
He smiled and stood straighter, spirit returning to his crimson face.
“Archers keep their distance too,” she continued in a voice her broken nose muffled. “And my old roommate, she couldn’t fight off a mosquito, but I’m sure she’ll preside over half of Atham one day. And I really could use a Healer more now than ten minutes ago.”
It was Alec’s turn to blush. “You want Jasper.” He cleared his throat. “When I called myself a Healer . . . I meant that’s what I decided to study. Right now, your nose is better off without my help.”
She turned to the quiet boy. “Would you mind?”
He nodded and stepped forward. Blue flame danced about his hand.
“Don’t worry, blinder.” Ivan made the title sound affectionate. “Jasper’s good. And he wants to show off anyway.”
Jasper put a hand on her shoulder, nipped nimbly through the Keraldi Barrier and poured his energy into her, urging the tissues to heal. It was nothing like Grovener’s magic, but the pain did lessen and air started to trickle through the passage. She thanked him sincerely and the boy seemed to grow from the praise.
“I’m hungry,” Diam announced, his fingers brushing Khavi’s fur.
Jasper sighed, adjusting his glasses. “It grows late. I need to get home before Mother gets furious, and I’ve got pups to feed besides.”
They walked him home, or at least close enough to hear his mother shout for Jasper to get his useless ass into the house. The boy sagged.
“Jasper . . . ” Renee let the words trail off. A pigeon or courier with a message from Sasha if not yet Seaborn might have arrived at Hunter’s Inn by now. Doubtful, but she couldn’t help longing to check. Pressing her lips together, she looked from her new friend to the mansion looming behind him. In the open doorway, a tall, slender woman with striking blond hair puffed a tobacco stick. The smoke snaked around her like a living shroud.