A body rammed into us, knocking us sideways off our feet. I scrambled away on my hands and knees before turning to see who had come to my rescue. Zabriel was wrestling on the ground with one of the men who had ambushed us. I threw my hands over my mouth in terror—my assailant was much larger than Zabriel, and he had drawn a dagger. He rolled, pinning my cousin beneath him, the knife pressing downward despite Zabriel’s grip on his wrists. For a moment, I stood paralyzed with fear; then I rushed forward and kicked the man in the gut. The air in his lungs forcefully expelled, weakening him, and Zabriel thrust him away. Grabbing the dagger Fane had given him, he stuck it up under the man’s ribs, eliciting a cry of pain and rage. Eyes wild, my cousin struggled to his feet, his breath coming fast and furious. Catching sight of me, he once more shoved me in the direction he wanted me to go.
“Come with me!” I croaked, trembling uncontrollably.
“I’ll be right behind you. Now get out of here!”
I turned from the fighting and ran down the length of the bridge, the shouts, pistol fire, and curses coming from the battle urging me onward. It was like Evernook Island all over again—Illumina and I racing for the water, the fire consuming the trees and heating the backs of our necks while we dodged bullets on the beach.
My feet left the bridge and began to pound pavement, but I didn’t stop. I was still too exposed, too panicked, my nerves too raw. I ran until I thought I would pass out, finally ducking into an alley. I leaned back against the wall, panting heavily, every muscle in my body quivering, waiting for Zabriel to join me. He didn’t come. I straightened and walked to the edge of the ally, searching the street for movement, my ears straining for sound. But he didn’t appear. I gasped, choking back fear. What had become of the Prince?
I waited, pacing up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, considering. Should I return to the bridge and look for him there? No, that would be akin to walking into the enemy’s den—and I didn’t think I could bear to see the aftermath of the fight. I kicked at the ground in frustration, then started walking back toward the Governor’s mansion. If Zabriel had escaped, he’d expect to find me there. And if he was still with Fane, he’d eventually show up on his own. But I could not shed my terror so easily. I shuddered and my gut heaved, my mind supplying images of splayed and bloodied bodies before sharply focusing in on Fane, his mismatched eyes staring sightlessly upward. I slammed my fists into the nearest wall, not caring about the pain that went shooting through my injured wrist—I would not allow myself to conjure any such image of Zabriel.
It was then I recognized the street I was traversing—I was in the neighborhood of the Fae-mily Home. My blood pumped faster and my breathing rapidly increased, for I was also in the vicinity of the pub that held relief—relief from pain, from fear, from memory, from life. Hit by a craving so intense it made my gut ache, my feet made the detour, my head refusing to take any responsibility for the decision.
Unlike previous times when I had entered The River’s End, I did not hesitate, pushing straight through its patrons and past the bar to the vestibule that hid the door to the cellar.
“Buying or visiting?” Robb asked from his customary position behind a table, and for a brief moment, I wondered if he spent his life sitting there.
“Buying.”
“He’s in the office in the back—you know the way.”
I nodded, then turned on my heel to thread my way through the patrons and into a dimly lit hallway at the rear of the establishment. Taking a deep breath, I knocked upon the only door to which the hallway led.
“Enter if you likes,” a rough voice called, and I stepped inside the room, which was less cold but just as damp as the only other time I’d been here.
The man with the tattoos from whom I’d previously purchased my supply of Cysur sat behind his desk, cigar smoke twirling around his head, its smell mixing with the musty odor that otherwise pervaded this small space.
“You’re a needle customer, right?” he remarked, opening the desk and removing a pouch. He set it on the edge of the wood, and I stepped forward to take it. But before my hand could close around it, he snatched it away. “Forgettin’ somethin’, aren’t ya?” He slapped his palm down on the surface of the desk. “Coin first.”
His act ripped away the last shreds of my self-control. I glared at him, then stormed around the desk to knock his chair backward, sending him sprawling. Before he could scramble to his feet, I stepped on his neck with my boot. While he gasped for air, I reached down and removed the dagger from his belt.
“I’m buying on credit this time.”
He glared at me but didn’t make a move, and I grabbed the pouch.
“I could injure you real bad right now, or you could exchange your word that you won’t come after me for more ease in breathing.”
“I won’t come after you—not tonight, anyway,” he growled, his cigar, still lit, burning into his shirt where it had fallen.
“I’ll pay you back. We just need an understanding for the moment.”
“Agreed, then. Don’t see I have much choice.”
I removed my foot and backed toward the door, reaching behind me for the handle. After opening it, I slid into the hallway, ramming my way through the pub and out into the evening air.
Tucking the dagger into the empty sheath at my side, I once more ran, not trusting the promise I’d extracted. When the Governor’s mansion came into view, I dropped to a walk and shoved the pouch of Cysur into the small bag that hung from my belt, uncertain what to expect. By now, Luka and the Governor would have determined who was missing.
“Anya!” The voice, hushed yet sharp, seemed to come out of nowhere, and I turned to see Zabriel lurking in the shadow of the wall he and I had so ingloriously vaulted. I crossed to him, unsettled by the manic light in his brown eyes.
“What happened to you?”
“After I saw you safely off the bridge, I turned back to help, but...” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and he clenched his jaw, trying to stem his emotions. “Fane and his men were outnumbered three to one. There was nothing I could do.”
He turned and smacked his hands against the wall.
“Fane’s dead, Anya. Fane and his entire crew are dead.”
I paled and fell to my knees, trying to understand what had happened, what had gone so horribly wrong.
“Who else knew about the note Gwyneth sent?” Zabriel suddenly demanded, drawing a blank stare from me. “Those men who attacked Fane were at the bridge before us—it was an ambush, Anya. That means someone knew we would be there. So who else knew about the note?”
“Fi—she delivered it to me.” I met Zabriel’s eyes, fear squeezing my heart. “And Luka. He saw Fi deliver the note to me, and he read it. But I never thought...”
“He figured it out, Anya. He’s a smart man.”
He turned and stalked off toward the gated entrance to the Governor’s estate.
“Where are you going?” I called, scrambling to my feet and hastening to fall in step with him.
“To talk to Luka. I’m sure he’s waiting for us.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
A CRUEL REMINDER
Zabriel was right, of course. Constabularies had been directed to watch for our return, and they flanked us as we entered the mansion and proceeded up the staircase to the second floor. Our last encounter with the Lieutenant Governor in his study had been extremely unpleasant; this one promised to be worse.
Luka was sitting behind his desk when Zabriel and I entered, Marcus Farrier and Tom Matlock positioned on either side of him. Their expressions were stiff and tense, perfectly in keeping with the atmosphere in the room, though relief flooded Tom’s face the moment his gaze fell on me. It was clear he knew I’d been in danger—that he knew I could have been hurt. Perhaps because he
stood with Luka, I found his concern irritating.
Whatever approach to this meeting the Lieutenant Governor might have had in mind was preempted by Zabriel—he immediately rushed the desk and would likely have leaped over it had Farrier not reacted quickly enough to grab him by the shoulders and yank him back. My cousin’s tunic and hands were smeared with blood, and red splattered his face. He looked wild, his eyes feral.
“You yellow, split-tongued, noxious, murdering son of a paper tiger and a spread-em-wide whore!” Zabriel shouted, causing me to flinch and Luka to slowly rise from his chair. But my cousin wasn’t through berating his uncle yet. “Fight me like a man, you deuce. I’ll flay you inside out and use your heart and lungs for my colors.”
Zabriel panted for a moment, trembling with rage, while Luka walked around his desk, his eyes never leaving my cousin’s face.
“The pirate comes out at last,” he said, voice carefully controlled. “And congratulations on that stream of insults—I haven’t heard such vivid language in years.”
The Lieutenant Governor then turned his attention to me where I stood trembling a few feet behind my cousin.
“Care to add anything, Anya? Or has Zabriel sufficiently expressed your opinion, as well?”
I shook my head, wanting to disappear. The level of anger in the room was making the hair on my arms stand on end, and I expected the rest of the occupants of the mansion to burst through the door at any moment. How could anyone sleep through the tempest that was raging in the middle of the house?
Taking a deep breath, Luka leaned back against his desk, bracing himself with his hands on the wooden surface. “It’s time to get a few things straight. All of the pirates caught on the bridge are dead, not something I feel the need to mourn, but an incident of your own making.”
The images of bloodied bodies I had earlier quelled sprang up in my mind, and I stumbled to the side, clutching at the air, though it could offer no support. Tom immediately moved toward me, but Luka held up his hand to bring him to a halt.
The Lieutenant Governor was watching Zabriel, his eyes narrowed, and my cousin did not disappoint. He lunged once more at his uncle, causing Farrier to wrench his arms behind his back and exposing the pistol shoved into his belt. Tom stepped forward to remove the gun, then gave him a quick pat-down, though he found no other weapons. What had become of Fane’s dagger? Had my cousin lost it in the fight? Concealed it on his person? Recalling that he’d had a pistol tucked into the shaft of his boot when Shea and I had caught up to him in Sheness, I wondered if he might have hidden it there. Luka took the gun from Tom, then waved the young man away, apparently too distracted to order a more thorough search.
“In your zeal to kill the pirates, you almost got us killed, too,” Zabriel seethed, straining against Farrier. “Was that part of your plan, you bastard?”
“My men were ordered to take you into custody, nothing more.”
“But we didn’t know that,” I sputtered, the terror I had felt on the bridge returning tenfold. “We had no choice but to fight back.”
Luka gave me a patient smile. “If I’d told you of our plans, I doubt the ambush would have been successful. We thus had no choice but to run the risk you would fight back, and any injuries to my men that resulted were an unfortunate side effect. But my orders were clear that neither of you were to be harmed.”
“Apparently some of your men didn’t get the message. I was almost tossed off the bridge.”
“That should not have happened.” The Lieutenant Governor considered me, his blue eyes piercing, and my thoughts went to the Cysur I had stuffed among my other supplies in the bag at my hip. “I suspect you misinterpreted their actions. Nonetheless, I’ll look into it.”
He turned back to Zabriel, whose glare had not diminished, and resumed his lecture.
“As I was saying, the lives of the pirates who died tonight are on your conscience. They would have at some point come to a grisly end, but it would not have been tonight. They died tonight because you disobeyed me.”
He paused, waiting for his words to penetrate his nephew’s brain.
“I thought I made it clear that no one from your past could be told Pyrite was still alive. If word were to spread that we faked your execution... Well, your new identity as the Governor’s grandson and the Prince of the Fae would be thrown in jeopardy. And that cannot be tolerated.”
Luka pulled himself up to his full height and went to stand in front of Zabriel. Taking hold of his nephew’s hair, he raised his head, forcing him to meet his gaze. His next words were very clearly enunciated.
“If you can’t keep that straight, then I’ll do it for you.”
I stared at the Lieutenant Governor, my heart thudding painfully. Bitterness rose like bile in my throat—I had misjudged him, completely misread him, and that raised a highly unsettling question. About how many other things had I been wrong?
For a moment, I thought my cousin would retort; then his eyes flicked away from Luka. Satisfied that his message had gotten through, the Lieutenant Governor stepped back, and Zabriel’s posturing diminished. He looked deflated, his anger turning into misery—the wolf’s teeth were still bared, but he was no longer foaming at the mouth. Luka noticed, as well, and with a flick of his hand, he indicated to Farrier that he should release his hold. The Constable complied, though he moved no more than a step away, still on alert.
Sullenly examining his uncle, Zabriel rubbed his shoulders and upper arms. Now that the tension in the room was abating, Tom stepped forward to guide me to a nearby armchair. I sank into it, acutely aware of the syringe in the pouch at my hip and the relief it could bring. Despite his assertions, I felt certain Luka’s goal had been to kill Fane and his men—and to give his nephew a horrific lesson in the process. Luka Ivanova was not someone to cross; I doubted the Lieutenant Governor realized Zabriel wasn’t, either.
“Can I go?” my cousin grimly asked.
“Yes, my men will escort you to the west turret, where you will be placed under guard. Your window has been repaired—barred and boarded over, actually—to prevent another stunt like you pulled tonight. You will stay in your quarters until I can figure out the best way to control your impulses.”
“Whatever you say, Uncle.”
“Much better.” Luka then turned to me. “Anya, you will remain here for the moment. There is something you and I need to discuss.”
I watched Luka warily as Matlock and Farrier took charge of Zabriel, knowing he did not intend a casual conversation. He moved to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of wine, and I struggled against the numbing effects of exhaustion. From his point of view, this was probably an ideal time for an interrogation; from my point of view, it negated all the compassion I had attributed to him over the course of our relationship.
I didn’t have to wait long to learn Luka’s intentions. Returning to his desk, he raised a question that, even in my weakened state, I realized was perilous. After all, he had just ordered the ambush of a man and his crew for possessing the same knowledge.
“What can you tell me about Gwyneth Dementya?”
Trying to gather my wits, I countered, “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s not play games. The note that set up the meeting with Fane was sent to you by Gwyneth. How is she involved with these men? And what is her relationship with Zabriel?”
I forced myself to meet his eyes and stilled my hands in my lap, not wanting to show any signs of deception. With sweat trickling down my back, I pressed my brain to remember the exact wording of the note, for I had no doubt Luka did. I had to be very, very careful about what I said next.
“As I’ve already told you, Shea and I spent some time with Gwyneth and her father while we were in Sheness. When Leo asked us about our reason for visiting the port city, I explained we were looking for my cousin—Illumina, that is.” I paused,
letting my assertion resonate. Though my pulse was racing, I refused to allow my breathing rate to quicken, despite the nauseating dizziness that resulted. “Shea and I eventually met Fane, who led us to Pyrite. Unfortunately, Gwyneth bumped into Shea and me one afternoon when we were in Fane’s company. But because of that, when Illumina and I were leaving Sheness, I told Gwyneth that Fane might need to get a message to us and asked her to assist. I didn’t exactly have a permanent residence, so I told her she could get a message to me through Fi.”
He studied me, sipping his wine. For once, exhaustion proved an asset, for it made it easier to keep my bleary eyes on him.
“So Gwyneth never met Pyrite?”
“No.”
“And she doesn’t know Pyrite and Zabriel are the same person?”
“No.”
“And she had nothing but a haphazard acquaintance with Fane?”
“You really shouldn’t use such big words when I’m this tired,” I complained, attempting to discourage further questioning, and a smile flickered across Luka’s face. “Gwyneth never knew what business Fane was in—her only mistake was her willingness to do me a favor.”
“Then why did she write her message in such a convoluted manner?”
“Big words, again—you’re giving me a headache.” I stalled for time, needing to come up with an explanation that would satisfy him. Taking a deep breath, I gave the best reason my brain could conceive. “Gwyneth’s smart—I imagine she realized we might be in trouble and was trying to protect me. And who knows what Fane told her.”
Luka finished his wine and set down his goblet. Then he came to his feet and walked over to me. Dropping to one knee, he gazed directly into my eyes.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Anya?”
“I’m not lying to you. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I may not have wings, but I’m still Fae. And Fae can’t lie.” This was, of course, the biggest lie I had ever told, for I was no longer constricted by the bounds of being Fae.