Page 48 of Shadowlands Omega

She stumbles. I shift the tray into one hand, despite its heft and awkward shape, and catch her elbow with my other. She jerks away from me, turning until her back is against the wall of the staircase. She stands with one foot on the stair below, as do I. I don’t crowd her. I don’t need to. She meets my gaze and my displeasure slices my stomach like a sword. The urge to gut her grows, but I flex my hand several times and force back my claws.

“It was me.”

Disappointment throttles me — that one of my own villagers would thus betray me, but also that one of Kiandah’s sisters would thus betray her. “How?”

“The story is complicated. There were whispers and rumors of North Islander refugees from Trash City on South Island shores. I was…connected with them. They weren’t hard to find. Their leader Merlin used to walk the Night Market without a disguise. And then when the Alphas first started disappearing, she went to ground, but by then she’d already told me when to meet her and where.”

“And where was that?”

She makes a rough sound and wipes her face on the inside of her arm, as both of her hands are occupied with wine and jug. “It changed every time. But they needed the kitchen cellar to embalm the bodies before they moved them. I never saw where they came from and I never asked, but…”

“But did you see where they were moved to?”

She freezes, turning to stone, her shoulders rolling up by her ears. “I…”

“You know how I feel about lies, Owenna.”

She clenches her jaw and blinks at me slowly. Her eyes…they are the same color as Kiandah’s, the same shape, but they look so different. Kiandah does not have that look. She does not have the capacity to generate it. I do not understand how a single creature can be so unique and distinct, even when born of the same blood and into the same family.

Owenna got all of Kiandah’s sharp edges. Kiandah got all of Owenna’s soft parts. Except for the bits of her that exist in the safety of my arms. I wonder…is Owenna a lamb when she takes a lover? That would be a sight to see, though not for me. I have only eyes for she who is master of me.

“The Cliffs of Oblivion is where Trash City takes the bodies.”

“That is not true. We have scoured the cliffs and found nothing.”

“Then your Riders are blind or not looking hard enough.”

“Or they do not know where to look.” I tilt my head and watch her eyes widen with knowing. She knows what I will say before I say it, what I have intended to ask of her for some time now. “But you do.”

She shakes her head. “No. No, Lord Yaron. Merlin already thinks I betrayed them. She’ll slit my throat…”

“Whatever you did to gain her trust the first time, I’m certain you’ll be able to replicate.”

“It’s suicide…”

“And if you do,” I say, speaking over her. “If you lead us to the bodies and to Trash City — for I’m certain the locations of both are one in the same — I will give you what that foul wretch could not.”

Owenna stills. The bitch is greedy and covetous, cunning and agile. I had been hesitant in asking her this, concerned that her allegiance to Trash City would be strong and even more concerned that a deceitful bitch was the wrong person to ask into an alliance. However, I can see the calculation in her eyes…and no matter what Trash City once offered her, I have a price that she cannot say no to.

“If you bring Trash City to me, I will move you from the kitchens.”

“To where?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“I want to wear a black cloak.” Her confidence astounds me, as does her ask.

I cannot help the grin that sweeps my features even as I lie in cold blood, “But no one wears a black cloak in these realms.”

Her gaze narrows and she clenches her fist around the wine in her hand. “You said you don’t tolerate lies, my Lord.”

I grin a little wider and cock my head. “Does your family know that you are a ruthless woman?”

“No.”

“They mistake you for a simpleton.” She doesn’t respond. “How do you know of the Black Cloaks?” A small elite group that rank among my soldiers, typically recruited from Crimson Riders themselves, but occasionally, a villager will show potential. They are spies, and occasionally, assassins.

“Everyone knows of them.”

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