Page 129 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

Bile rose in the back of my throat. What if she had Baylis? What if she was going to behead her just like I did to Calypso?

Two of the Hunt followed me. Their armor nearly silent as we moved cautiously through the city.

“Where did Baylis go the other day when she left?” I asked one of the soldiers.

“To the temple of Ammena, my Lady. To pray.”

“Did she speak to anyone?” The sounds of our boots on the cobblestones echoed through the silent night.

“Just one of the priestesses and one of the other parishioners.”

“What did they look like, the parishioner?”

“It looked to be a Barbarian. He was sobbing to himself in the last pew. Baylis chatted with him briefly before one of the priestesses came to help him.

“Hmm… how tall was he?”

“Very tall. I’d sworn he was a giant if not for the signature tattoos of his clan.”

Could it have been Gideon in a glamour? No. Even the best glamours couldn’t change a man’s size, and Gideon was lean. I bit the inside of my cheek nervously. Was Baylis a traitor?

Fuck. I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should have known. But her memories… they were all so fragmented I couldn’t make sense of them.

We approached the deserted temple. It was customary for them to stay open all night for those seeking the goddess’s guidance and for those down on their luck to take refuge. But something was off. The hair on the back of my arms pricked, and my senses heightened.

The two soldiers must have sensed it, too. They silently drew their swords from their sheaths.

“Do not hurt Baylis,” I said, touching the door. “And be careful.”

Both the soldiers nodded.

Holding my breath, I pushed open the door, preparing to strike, but only darkness met my gaze. In the center of the room stood a giant statue of Ammena holding the apple she used to make the humans, bathed in moonlight. My eyes raked over the curvaceous goddess from her long braids down to her feet, where my eyes beheld a sleeping figure.

“Baylis,” I gasped, a little louder than I intended.

Weapons clanged in the distance, and the sound of racing footsteps followed.

“Go, see what that’s about. I’ll get my sister.”

The Hunt headed off toward the sound of footsteps.

Slowly, I approached Baylis so as not to frighten her. She looked so fragile, crumpled at the feet of a goddess who had never once answered her prayers.

“Baylis,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” a deep voice echoed through the darkness, but still my sister slumbered.

“Who’s there?” I grabbed my sword, preparing to strike.

From the shadows, a hulking man emerged. His dark curls tied back, revealing the sloped ears of an elf. The rune tattoo on his earlobe marked him as a Barbarian, but from which clan I did not know. He must have been a half-breed. Even through his thick wool tunic, I could make out the markings of a body honed by heavy weightlifting. Was this one of the sea queen’s mercenaries or… My mind spun with possibilities.

“They call me Alwin.” A devilish smile cut his scarred face in two.

“What do you want?” I asked, gripping my sword tightly.

“You.” A hand clasped around my mouth from behind while the tip of a knife—cold-pressed iron—seared into my lower back. I sucked in a breath as the assailant buried the knife deeper.

Using what power I had; I launched into the captor’s mind. A patchwork of shoddy traps awaited me—each one old and rusted. This man had been trained to keep telepaths out but never used any of what he’d learned. I kicked over a beartrap covered in cobwebs. His mind was an old storeroom with a cot in the corner and a little stove burning hot. Upon a tiny shelf were paintings—cherished memories. Some of him as a child, hugging his mother. His first kiss. It was a shame I’d have to wipe all of these.

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