Page 20

Chapter

Twenty

“ S earch the ships again,” Remy orders his soldiers. “No one leaves this port until we find Darby.”

The wooden boards of the docks creak under our feet as soldiers run back and forth. Unlike yesterday, the sky is cloudless, and the hot sun beats down on us as we scan the crowds. Vendors and pedestrians are scattered around the fish market, glaring at the guards who rummage through their stalls. The streets nearby have been closed off, meaning no one is free to leave the area.

Water splashes against the ships anchored behind us as soldiers check each one. Their crews, who were forced to disembark their vessels, stand nearby glaring at us.

“How much longer will this take?” one of the sailors demands, his cheeks red and weather-beaten from his years at sea.

I understand their frustration. We’ve been out here for two hours, and there’s still no sign of Darby. When we arrived, Remy didn’t appear happy about the fact that Thorne was with me. He immediately ordered the reaper to help search the ships. Technically, the captain doesn’t have the authority to order him to do anything, but in a rare moment of civility, Thorne acquiesced without comment.

“Until we’re done,” Remy replies briskly, keeping his gaze on the crowd.

“My men and I have a schedule to keep,” the sailor insists as his companions cheer him on. “Who’s going to reimburse us if we miss our delivery window because of this?”

I head further down the dock while they continue arguing back and forth. Sweat dampens my brow as I scan the crowds, searching for someone who matches Darby’s description. A seed of apprehension blossoms in the pit of my stomach. We should have found him by now.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I turn to find Thorne approaching. His gloves and long sleeves are out of place among the exposed forearms of the sailors. How is he wearing all of that in this sweltering heat? Images flash through my mind of what it would be like to see him unclothed.

“Are you alright?” Thorne asks.

I swallow thickly. “Hmm?”

He tilts his head, examining me with concern. “Your cheeks are flushed. Is the heat getting to you?”

“The heat?” My face flames even hotter. “Yes, that’s it. I’m fine, though.”

“Alright,” he says, clearly finding my behavior odd.

I use my hand to fan my face, trying to regain my composure. “Find anything on the ships?”

He shakes his head. “Just some mice.”

A shudder rolls through me as we make our way further down the docks.

“I promise, they are more scared of you than you are of them.”

“You underestimate my fear,” I mutter.

“Only because I’ve seen how fearless you truly are,” he counters.

I scowl. His words aren’t helping me cool down. My attention snags on a light-haired man standing a few yards away. I stiffen. From behind, his build matches Darby’s description, but when he turns around a few moments later, I get a glimpse of his face and realize he’s about two decades too old.

Instead of being relieved, my agitation only grows. Something isn’t right about this situation. My feet come to a halt in the middle of the walkway. I’m distantly aware of a sailor shouting as he nearly barrels into me, but one look from Thorne silences him.

Everything about this feels wrong. If Darby were here, we would have found some trace of him by now, and yet we’ve come up with nothing. Not even a witness who remembers crossing paths with him today…

Following my instincts, I sprint back the way we came. Without checking, I know Thorne is right behind me. The thought pushes me forward.

I find Remy exactly where I left him, still arguing with the impatient sailors.

Not bothering to acknowledge them, I grab the captain’s arm and spin him toward me.

“Who reported seeing Darby here?” I ask, my chest heaving.

His brows furrow at my strange behavior, but he answers without question. “Branson. Why?”

Letting Remy go, I scan the nearby area until I find the dark-haired guard exiting one of the ships behind us. Barely old enough to become a solider, the young mortal has only been on the job for a few months.

“Branson!” I shout.

His ears turn red at the sound of his name, and he immediately jogs over, his gaze flitting back and forth between me and Remy.

“You’re the one who reported seeing Darby, correct?”

“Y-yes, wraith ,” he stutters, his gaze dropping as he shift back and forth on the balls of his feet.

My eyes narrow. “What exactly did you see?”

A bead of sweat drips down the side of his head, either from the heat or his nerves. His hand runs nervously through his dark curls. “Well, I wasn’t the one who actually saw him. Just the one who reported it.”

“What are you saying, soldier?” Remy says, his tone hard as granite.

“Another guard was the one who saw him,” Branson admits. “He told me, and I alerted everyone else.”

The captain steps closer, crowding the man. “Who was the other guard?”

While Remy has always been gentle with me, those under his command know a different side of him. In these moments, he always appears larger than life. I can’t imagine any of his men defying an order from their captain.

“I-I don’t know his name.” Branson shakes his head as his face pales. “He was wearing a uniform, but I’d never seen him before. Young guy. Mortal.”

I turn back to the crowd, scanning the faces for someone who matches that vague description.

“Anything else you recall?” Remy presses him.

Strawberry-blond hair catches my attention as a young man moves through the mass of people. Only his back is visible as he pushes toward an alley that leads between two buildings, but something about his lanky frame pulls at a memory.

“He was a ginger,” Branson announces right as the man turns his head, offering me a glimpse of his profile.

“Kipps,” I whisper.

“What did you say?” Remy snaps in my direction.

His eyes meet mine through the crowd, holding my gaze for less than a second before he darts down the alley and disappears.

“It was Kipps!” I shout.

Wasting no time, I sprint after the guard from the tunnels. Thorne’s boots pound against cobblestones behind me, followed closely by Remy and his soldiers. Pedestrians block my path, forcing me to push them aside to clear a way forward.

“Go around!” I shout to the others as I squeeze through a gap in the crowd. “We need to cut him off!”

With no time to glance back, I pray that they do as I ask. We can’t afford to let Kipps get away, not when he’s our only lead. Using my elbows to force people out of my way, I finally reach the mouth of the alley. Several yards ahead, I spot a flash of red hair darting around the back of the building. Pushing my legs as fast as they’ll go, I race after him. I’ve never been so thankful to be high fae and blessed with speed mortals could only dream of.

Turning the corner, I spot Kipps only fifteen feet ahead of me. My determination blazes as I realize I’m gaining on him. I’ve almost closed the gap when I notice a woman step out the back door of one of the buildings ahead of us. She’s carrying a broken milk jar toward a trash bin, completely oblivious to the danger she’s in.

By the time her features twist with horror, it’s too late. Kipps grabs her by the hair and brings a knife to her throat. I slam to a halt, my body nearly tipping forward before I right myself. Only a few feet separate us, but it might as well be a mile. With her back pressed against his chest, he uses her body as a shield.

“Mama?” a child’s voice calls from inside the open door.

My heart aches as a small head peeks out, revealing a little girl who couldn’t be more than five years old. Black ringlets tied together with colorful ribbons hang down her back. Without taking my eyes off Kipps, I grab the girl’s shoulder and gently push her back inside before shutting the door. She doesn’t need to see this.

“Please,” the woman’s desperate voice begs. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Shut up!” Kipps digs the blade harder against her throat, causing a small stream of blood to trail down her chest and stain the bust of her worn gown.

“Kipps. Look at me,” I demand. “You don’t have to do this. You can let her go, and we can just talk.”

“I can’t!” he shouts. “He won’t let me!”

Footsteps race toward us from the other end of the alley, cutting off his only hope of escape. He starts to turn toward them, but I pull his attention back to me.

“Who won’t let you?” I ask. “Is it Darby?”

“No!” he screams, his fevered eyes drilling into mine. “The voice! He whispers to me. He’s always, always, always whispering.” His free hand pounds against his head, emphasizing his words. “All the time. And I have to do what he says. I don’t have a choice.”

“Who is he, Kipps? Tell me his name.”

His face crumples as he shakes his head.

“You don’t understand. None of you have heard him yet.” His gaze drops to my collar and stays there. “But you will.”

A terrible scream fills the air as Kipps drags his blade across the woman’s throat.

“No!” I cry, but it’s too late.

Blood sprays from the wound, splattering across my face. I step forward, my arms outstretched on instinct as Kipps throws the woman toward me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lift the blade to his own throat right before another spray of blood washes over me. Soldiers swarm him, but all my attention is reserved for the woman dying in my arms.

Her panicked eyes find mine, the pupils so wide they’ve eaten up her green irises. Lowering her to the ground, I position her torso in my lap as I try to apply pressure to the wound. Her skin is slick, making it difficult to keep my hands from sliding. There’s blood everywhere. In some distant corner of my brain, I know it’s too much. Mortals are fragile, and their bodies can’t replace it quickly enough.

“Just hold on,” I whisper. “It will be okay.”

Her gaze is unfocused now, staring blankly at the sky above us.

“A towel!” I shout at the soldiers. “I need something to stop the bleeding!”

No one moves. There’s no longer any sound of a struggle, yet they all stand around watching us instead of helping.

“Save her!” I order them. “Do something!”

My hand slips again, and I adjust my grip, noticing the way her bleeding has slowed. Her skin is too cold now. Or maybe that’s mine? I feel as though I’ve been covered in a blanket of ice. My brow furrows as I remember how warm it was earlier. Did the weather change already?

“Ivy.”

I don’t glance up to see who’s speaking to me. It doesn’t matter. I need to focus on the woman in front of me. She needs my?—

Dead.

The word echoes through my mind as I stare into her lifeless eyes. Her chest is still, no longer moving up and down. Air hitches in my lungs as the world spins around me making the past and present blend together.

I run through the gardens as a wagon brings the body through the gate. I heard servants whisper it’s the queen, but that’s not possible. No. No, it’s not her. It can’t be. Leona isn’t dead. The wagon hits a bump in the road, jostling the blanket that covers the body. It slips down, revealing a face I know too well. Frozen terror holds her eyes wide, but there’s no life left in them. Her mouth is open, as if she died screaming and rigor mortis made her fear permanent. If only I had ?—

“Leona, no,” I cry as I shake the woman in my lap. “Please! You can’t leave me again.”

A gloved hand settles on top of mine, startling me. I drag my gaze away from Leona to find Thorne staring down at me, his blue eyes full of sympathy.

“She’s gone, Angel,” he says softly. “It’s time to let go.”

“No, she’s—” My words cut off as I glance back down, freezing when I see her face.

My chest deflates. This isn’t Leona. The queen is long dead, and this is someone else. Some poor woman whose daughter is about to receive the worst news of her life.

My hands shake as he pulls them away from the woman and helps me to my feet. Embarrassment steals my breath as I notice the wary stares the soldiers send my way. Even Remy watches me with worried eyes.

“Get her out of here,” he whispers to Thorne. “I’ll handle this.”

“Her daughter,” I murmur. “Don’t let the girl see her this way.”

“We won’t,” Remy assures me.

Thorne’s hand at my back guides me toward the street. I want to fight him, but I don’t know what I’d be fighting for. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch one last glimpse of the green-eyed women before we turn the corner, and she’s gone forever.