Page 29 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

I think we should go back.

“If the black beast doesn’t finally love me after this quest, I’ll bepissed,” Niles whispers to us.

Ruth elbows him, snickering.

The light footsteps of our unit echo through the forest like a muffled drum. The soldiers around us are dressed in their merlot-red wool blazers with bronze tassel linings, despite Dessin warning them to blend in. They cling to their belts of weaponry, eyes darting through the tall collection of rubber and cannonball trees. It doesn’t exactly resemble the forests we’ve traveled through before… but a jungle.

It’s colorful, with the massive orange-and-red fruits from the scraggly cannonball trees. There are birds squawking from the branches, pecking at their nests, a humid wind ruffling their multicolored feathers.

The group comes to a stop, waiting for Dessin to give a signal. Two soldiers lower a thick wooden bridge that stretches eight to ten feet.

We’ve reached the first trap.

Dessin and Aurick cross it first, testing out the durability. They nod once it’s determined to be safe. Everyone crosses it, two at a time until we’re on the other side of a nearly invisible trap. A deathly trench was dug and disguised with branches, vines, and moss. Ruth sighs as we continue to march forward.

I just want this to be over.

I want to see DaiSzek’s large cinnamon eyes again and run my hand over his soft, shiny coat. I want to go back to the time when it was just the three of us, on the run, learning more about each other without the stress of the asylum.

But here we are, climbing over the thorny weeds, wiping sweat from our brows, and waiting to meet the deadliest soldiers of this world.

After fifteen minutes, we stop again, Dessin making a downward signal with his hands. Everyone drops to the dirt, flat, waiting to see what he does next.

Dessin flings a branch the size of his arm forward; it flips and rotates in the air until it hits the ground, making a loud snap. Suddenly, a whip slices through the air, a foot or two above our flattened bodies. The air shrieks at the speed. Low-hanging branches are chopped from their tree trunks, sprinkling to the ground collectively.

Ruth gasps next to me.

It reminds me of what Dessin did the time he saved me from Albatross. He lost the group of motorcycles that were chasing us by triggering the same bladed contraction.

Warrose is behind us, helping Ruth and me to our feet as we continue to move.

“How are you holding up?” he asks me, voice low and secretive.

No one approached me about the incident. They avoided looking at me entirely. Probably in fear that Dessin would lose his temper if he caught anyone gawking.

“I’m fine,” I say.

Warrose releases a breath. “I’m sure you are.” He clears his throat. “I just—I wanted you to know… Dessin and Kane—they’re my brothers. That makes you family too.”

I refuse to look at him, at those serious seafoam eyes.

“Which means… I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”Even after you murder someone, have a breakdown, and lose your sanity.But he’s too polite to tack those on.

I swallow, feeling my heart fumble at his sentiment.

Family.

We follow in a precise line around a few puddles of water. Dessin tosses a pebble into the one closest to him, the size of a watermelon. There’s a sharp hissing sound as the puddle boils, a yellow smoke rising from the dissolving rock.

Jesus.

They were hoping our unit would walk through it, burning off our feet. Crippling us before we could even reach them. My stomach flips. What if he didn’t catch all of their traps? What if he misses a single one that kills us all?

But it’s Dessin,I remind myself. Ten. Steps. Ahead.

We continue on for miles, dodging hundreds of carefully hidden snares, pitfalls, and land mines. At one point, Dessin throws a small knife, aiming it in the center of a bush. It lands with a wet, cracking sound. A Vexamen spy watching us.

The winds carry subtle noises of animals growling, howling, or squawking. But nothing approaches. The satchel seems to do its job for all of us.

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