Page 39 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion (Tales of a Monstrous Heart, #2)

Chapter Twenty

Kat

The wild winds claim the east. Reavers through the underground move fey to the northern shores.

Their numbers unknown and their intent dubious.

Mortals and lesser fey are involved. The docklands are unsafe territory for those loyal to the civil republic of Elysior.

Three patrols have attempted to secure the region yet supplies dwindle and retreat is our only option.

For how should we fight a faceless enemy even the rebellion seems hesitant to conquer.

Council report from the eastern fields

Gulls screeched above on the unforgiving sea wind.

Coating my lips in the taste of salt as I kept a tight grip on my hood.

Thankful for the light mist of rain giving me a reason to conceal my ears.

But the poor gloomy weather didn’t disturb the bustle of the markets beyond.

Packed tightly with both fey and mortals.

A maze of stalls lined the great sea wall.

The east coast of Elysior, known for its fishing and island trade.

A fey haven, the Council having too much need of the items made and traded in the east to cause trouble here.

One of the places I’d considered safe for Alma in my plans after the Institute.

Yet the maps and stories had never done it justice.

The hiss of distant steam engines caught my ear, ready for their cargo.

Then came the traders’ shouts carried on the wind as women scurried past with buckets and baskets of wares. Young boys with hooved feet sold pies from shop doorways.

So much normality it put me on edge, where I lingered in a narrow alleyway. Right where Emrys had left me, in the company of Gideon – and his disapproving scowl – standing opposite me.

Much to the healer’s annoyance. The harsh winds disrupting his golden hair – he hadn’t bothered to pull up his cloak.

He’d protested my coming. Stating it was best I was left in the house. Emrys hadn’t said anything, he’d given me the choice and despite my track record with foolish decisions I didn’t want to stay put. I needed to fix things. Needed to learn. Needed to help.

Kysillians healed by training, moving, and hunting. They didn’t do well sitting still. Besides, if Montagor could send another blood seeker, I’d rather face it in the open than have it run into William or the house first.

I pressed myself back against the chipped brick, returning my focus to the beings that bustled past the mouth of the alleyway, the wind bringing the smell of roasting nuts and hot wine.

The shriek of children playing and dockworkers laughing as they hauled rope while girls sold flowers from small crates.

How strange such peace was to me. How it threatened to drag me back to the memories of my own childhood that now only stung like an open wound.

‘You must have impressed someone,’ came Gideon’s dry voice from next to me, making me jolt with surprise at how silently he moved. ‘That’s quite a striking likeness.’

He was still studying the market, but he held a piece of paper out to me, torn where he’d pulled it from the notice wall at the alleyey’s end. I took it, oddly not surprised to find my own face looking back at me.

Katherine Woodrow.

Rebellion accomplice.

Wanted on suspicion of murder and arson.

Full reward to be paid after capture.

Thankfully the artist who had constructed my likeness hadn’t been employed by the Council. If they had been, I was certain I would have had fangs and claws.

No. Master Hale had paid for the artist for my Council file a few years ago.

Repulsed by the memory of him, I pushed the paper deep into my pocket. Another act of charity to soothe his own guilt.

‘You weren’t raised with Kysillians?’ Gideon asked, the question too short as if he had no desire to ask it but also didn’t enjoy the silence.

‘My mother was mortal. My father wished to protect us from Kysillian scorn.’ I answered. Why we settled in the north. Where beings didn’t care for the sin of impure blood mixing. ‘If only he knew how futile the endeavour was.’

The words slipped free until I could fully contemplate the weight of them. The horror of everything that had followed as I left the north.

How strange it was to have such secrets free after winding them around my ribs for so long.

‘I’m sorry that you were there.’ Gideon’s words were almost lost in the wind. Genuine sadness in his profile. The hint of regret in the tight press of his lips as he considered the market beyond.

Daunton. Of course, Gideon wouldn’t have known until that Council chamber.

‘I’m here now.’ I smiled despite myself.

Those sharp eyes came back to my face, lips parting as if he wanted to say something else.

Only to be distracted by nearing footsteps.

The dark form of Emrys slipping into the shadow of the alley, his grey coat catching on the breeze as he ran his fingers through his damp hair.

Jarring me by how those scars down his face stood out more in the daylight.

‘What were you doing?’ Gideon demanded, voice low as if being left in my company was a taxing punishment.

‘Making myself seen,’ Emrys answered.

‘You could have said that.’ Gideon muttered, moving closer to the mouth of the alley as if to watch for a threat on the streets. His arms folded tightly across his chest, that metal of his arm groaning.

Emrys came to stand before me, presenting me with a small brown paper bag. ‘For Alma,’ he offered. I didn’t need to open it – by the weight and the feel I knew it was chocolates.

He’d remembered what I’d told him about her others. I couldn’t help but smile as I caught his chin with my thumb, bringing his face closer so I could kiss his cheek in thanks.

‘Ancestors deliver me,’ Gideon grumbled like a petulant chaperone, despite his back being to us.

‘I can grant that wish,’ a female voice spoke. Emrys went tense as his attention and mine turned towards that voice.

She stood exactly in the middle, somehow there despite making no sound. Four cloaked figures behind her, blades glinting and faces obscured by dark masks.

Reavers.

The woman was unmasked. Although dark paint was smeared around her eyes as if she’d been wearing one, metal studs through her nose and lip in decoration.

She was tall and broard, her dark skin damp from the mist of rain.

Blonde hair braided back as the pale white horns that curved back against her scalp caught the weak sunlight.

‘Gideon Swift. I heard a rumour you were back from the dead.’ She folded her arms over her fitted leather jacket, her blonde braids falling over one shoulder.

There were ink designs across her knuckles that had nothing to do with magic or summoning. As sharp teal eyes ran over our small gathering with displeasure. ‘From the looks of things … you should have stayed dead.’

‘We have an invitation, Sigrid.’ Emrys moved in front of me, holding up his hand, and there between his two fingers was a folded piece of paper. Like a street urchin performing a magic trick.

‘Do you remember the name of all the beings who’ve tried to kill you, Blackthorn?’ She took the letter from him.

‘Old habit,’ Emrys offered darkly.

Those words made my magic rise within me like a summoned beast. Awakening something primal within my blood, at the mere threat of them. The woman called Sigrid scanned over the letter, before a muscle moved in her jaw.

‘This female will be the death of me,’ she muttered, folding the letter with a sharp slap.

‘Back to your positions,’ she threw the command over her shoulder.

The cloaked figures had the barest hesitation before they slipped back onto the streets and into the bustle of people at the market stalls.

A shifting of light above told me more had been perched on the roofs above.

Neither Emrys nor Gideon seemed disturbed by the prospect. Anticipating it.

Of course, none of this was new to them. Elysior had been in conflict for longer than it had been at peace.

‘Shall we?’ The female turned to lead the way. It was perhaps unwise for her to give us her back, but the broadsword strapped there seemed to be a taunt. That she’d enjoy bringing down anyone foolish enough to attack her.

She turned to one of the damp, brick walls that had penned us in. Only then did I notice the scratches on the stone. Faint rune marks in the shape of a narrow archway.

She tapped twice on the red brick, the wall peeling away with a clatter of stone and dust to reveal a short passage, resembling something a servant might use.

What greeted me was the smell of hay, dry wood and sweat.

‘Brilliant bloody idea as always, brother,’ Gideon griped, fixing the sleeves of his jacket, his eyes darted around, as if needing to know every exit. ‘The Reavers are clearly thrilled to see us.’

‘Quiet,’ was Emrys’s dark command as he – thankfully – went first, despite the fact I was certain every gentlemanly urge in him fought against it.

With Gideon cursing at my back, I had no choice but to move forward, at least thankful to be out of the wet gloomy weather and to be able to take down my hood as I pushed the small packet of chocolates into my skirt pocket.

The stone passage led past tall archways and inside what appeared to have once been a theatre.

I’d never been in one but I’d seen pictures.

Viewing boxes, extravagantly decorated walls – only now the paint was chipped and peeling.

A once-grand chandelier hung above reflecting the dim lamplight.

Only the stage was now gone, and instead a large fighting pit took up the space.

Surrounded by wooden benches, some men gathered, smoking pipes and handing around betting slips.