Page 63 of Caress of Fire
“How much farther?”Fedryc turned his head sideways to Marielle as they made their way through the slum.
“Not much,” Marielle answered in a hushed tone, although it was quite unnecessary with the two dozen Delradon elite guards flanking Fedryc, Henron and herself. This was not a stealth mission. “Three blocks and we’ll be at the butcher’s shop.”
They were making good progress but they had to walk from the center of town to the slums where Ignio Marula’s cousin had his large butcher shop, the one that also held the Pits—the illegal fighting rings that were one of Ignio Marula’s most profitable businesses. Not that he could profit from anything anymore.
They proceeded carefully as they stalked through the early morning streets mere minutes after sunrise, but they weren’t exactly inconspicuous either. As they went along the quiet, desert streets, faces peered through darkened windows, then retreated as fast as they had appeared. Even in death, Ignio Marula was still a threat. His vast network wasn’t erased just because the head had been cut from its body. Criminality was like a hydra, and another head would pop up soon enough to reap the profits of men’s misery and perversion.
Marielle knew very well any of the people watching them could warn the thug’s men before they reached Devan, but they had no choice. If they came in guns blazing with the guard in a frontal assault, it would only result in her brother’s death. Their only chance was a sneak attack, and this was the sliver of hope she was holding on to.
A good ten minutes later, they turned a corner and Marielle stopped. There it was, that ugly stone building where countless lives were lost amid pig and cow carcasses. The Pits.
“There.” She pointed to the building. “It looks empty but it’s not. Ignio Marula never leaves it without surveillance.”
“You stay out here,” Fedryc told her, and when she didn’t answer, he turned her around roughly. She met his eyes, which were already showing the beast inside, his pupils vertical and thin. “This isn’t going to be pretty. I can’t have you in the direct line of fire. I won’t be able to fight if you’re there, and I’m our best weapon.”
“You don’t know where the Pits are,” Marielle protested, even though Fedryc’s face told her he wasn’t going to budge. “It’s like a maze in there.”
“Then tell me.” His mouth curved in a thin, cruel line. “But you’re not stepping in there before my men clear it.”
Frustration welled inside Marielle but she recognized the logic in Fedryc’s words. She wasn’t Draekon, didn’t even know how to use their Delradon weapons—long, stick-looking devices that sent pulsing energy shots that could kill on impact. She was useless in a fight.
“The Pits are all the way down in the basement.” Her voice was even, even though she was brimming with terror. “Take the north corridor to the end, then make a right. You can’t miss the Pits. The well where they keep the fighters is in a back room. It’s not under lock and key, people like to come and poke the fighters who are still alive. Others take bets on who’s going to die of their injuries.”
Fedryc locked gazes with her long enough for her to lose her defiance and she finally nodded. She didn’t like it, but it was best for everyone if she stayed behind.
“Stay with her,” he addressed the guard on his left. “You and four others. Take care of her on your lives. Anything raises your alarm, you take my Draekarra out of here.”
The guard’s grim eyes set on Marielle, then back to Fedryc. “My Lord.” He nodded once then motioned to four men close to him.
Then Fedryc moved, the rest of the guards behind in a single line, all led by Henron. Before long, before she was ready for it, they had disappeared into the bowels of the butcher shop in a silent, highly trained death squad. Whoever stood in their way would lose their lives this morning.
The early morning silence stretched and stretched until Marielle found herself holding her breath, leaning slightly on her feet toward the door. It was taking too long. Something was wrong.
Tears bloomed in her eyes and Marielle let them. She was paralyzed with fear, with her growing, aching heart beating so hard it hurt. It hurt and it ached inside her ribs, and she found she couldn’t breathe.
Then the guard moved behind her, his lips at the commu-link on his wrist. “Yes, I understand. We will wait here for the High Lord’s return.”
His neutral voice, his carefully crafted words, entered Marielle’s brain. The only reason the guard would speak so carefully was because they had found Devan but it had been too late. Her fear crystallized in her veins like ice and she finally exhaled and gulped a scorching, hateful lungful of air.
“No.” Her word was like a plea but her mind rebelled. Because it just couldn’t be.
Her feet moved without her approval and the guard let out a sharp curse behind her. His feet battered the dirt ground of the street behind her and his long legs gave him an advantage, but she was light and fast where he was strong and weighed down by his equipment.
Marielle didn’t pause as she rushed into the butcher shop, speeding past steel tables and hooks, carcasses left there from the previous day’s work, unattended even in the heat. Because they were intended for human customers, and humans couldn’t afford to complain.
Her feet barely brushed the bloodstained concrete floor as she flew through the dark space, the guard on her tail like a shadow. Then she was at the staircase going down to the basement. She ran down the steps two at a time as the guard made progress in his chase.
As fast as she could, Marielle ran to the north hallway, darkness wrapping around her as she left daylight behind. Dampness and the stench of mold, mold and decay invaded her senses. She didn’t care. Devan was down here, that little boy she had shielded from the worst the slums had to offer since they became orphans.
That boy who was as much her son as he was her brother.
“Stop! Lady Marielle!” The guard’s voice, out of breath but still running, came from behind her.
She pushed herself to go even faster. Turning the corner at the end of the hallway, she entered the Pits. Light came from above, from the hole in the ceiling that gave the fighting ring its name. At the corner of her vision, she saw the guard enter.
She turned and ran for the back of the room, to where the fighters were held in a dark hole in the ground. To where Rela had told her Devan was being held.
Then Marielle crashed into a hard chest and hands of steel closed around her arms.
