Page 39 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
One of the rebels, a man with a sour expression I suspect is permanently fixed to his face, sneers.
“So your precious crime ring got raided. Forgive us if we don’t weep.”
He squeaks as my darkness rises around him, moving from his feet up his legs and to his waist. Several of the rebels lift their weapons or reach out their palms to conjure some terrial magic. But I’m more concerned by the rumbling beneath my feet as the earth starts to shake. I meet the prince’s gaze, recognizing his magic. I’d rather not find out what that rumbling leads to, so I reluctantly drop my shadows from around the man, and the earth beneath me stills.
“My life’s work has either been seized or razed to the ground. And it’s all because you had to make your point with Polis,” I say darkly. “Well, I’ve come to show you the fruits of your labor. Vasily.”
My man steps forward. He’s one of the fiercest of my security guards, but he hesitates when I gesture to the patch across his right eye.
“Please show them,” I say. It hurts me to wound his pride after everything he’s been through, but it’s important they understand. Vasily pushes the eyepatch up his head, revealing the pink, empty socket beneath.
“Vasily lost that eye stopping a cleaver’s ice shards trying to impale one of my door boys,” I hiss. “Warren here was almost buried alive by a geostri cleric. And as for me…”
I tug at the fingers of my gloves and slip my coat off to show the burns starting at my knuckles and running up my forearms.
“That’s what happens when you’re trying to stop a cleaver from setting your building on fire with fifty people still inside.”
There’s a ripple of reaction among the rebels. They recognize the Temple’s brutality, but in the end, they still look to Harman to see how he reacts. I’d grown increasingly suspicious that I’d met the Hand of Ralus’s secretive leader that day in Hallowbane, but now I’m certain.
“I’m sorry about what’s happened, Wadestaff,” Harman says. “But I did warn you. I’m not sure what you expected when you continued to cater to the Temple’s monsters.”
How dare he.My fury flares, and my shadows close in around the feet of Leon and the rebel leader.
“My clientele didn’t seem to bother you when you could use my workers as spies, Sandale,” I spit. “Obviously, you don’t give a shit about their safety even when your actions put them in danger. But while you might be fine with sending your people to be slaughtered”—Sandale winces at that, and I feel a surge of vicious satisfaction—“Iactually care about those I’m responsible for. I barely got my people out of the city alive, and I wantjustice.”
I take a step toward them, only to find a knife pressed firmly to the base of my throat.
“Don’t get any closer if you’d like to keep your head.”
I risk turning just enough to see one of the fae, the dark-haired woman with bright green eyes, standing at my shoulder. Muffled grunts from my security tells me they’ve been stalled by the prince’s soldiers too. Gods, these fae are fast.
“It’s not nice to sneak up on people,” I say calmly as my shadows swirl around me.
I feel her flinch by my side as the world goes dark for her. The moment she tenses, I grab her wrist and wrench her hand away, pulling the dagger from her fingers with my other hand. I lift the shadows, ready to turn the blade on her, but she’s not there.
“Isaid, don’t move if you want to keep your head.”
I yank my neck around to find her on my other side, holding a second knife directly against my groin. Her smug expression makes her look like a cat that’s caught a particularly amusing mouse.
“Clever,” I say flatly, even if privately I’m rattled. I look toward the prince. “Call off your dogs, Your Highness.” I demand, and the smugness dies on her face. She presses the knife a little harder against the fabric of my pants, eyes going to her captain.
“And if I do, what do you plan on doing next, Wadestaff?” the prince asks.
“I want justice, but I’m not here for some kind of blood payment.” I look into the soldier’s green eyes, offering her a smile that makes her eyes widen a little. Good, I knew that would throw her.
“That would hardly be useful to me,” I continue. “What I want is compensation for the damage you’ve done.”
This man is a prince—he must have resources that will help me rebuild. Or at least look after everyone for the next few months until I can call in some of the many favors people owe me.
Leon gestures to his soldiers. “Put the knife away, Damia,” he says.
The green-eyed woman doesn’t look happy about it, but she withdraws her hand and steps away.
“Pity,” she says.
“I’m truly sorry for what happened in Hallowbane, Wadestaff,” Harman says, and for once he doesn’t look quite so infuriatingly righteous. Perhaps my words got through to him. “Believe it or not, I really do understand what it’s like to worry about the people under your charge—whether you made the right decisions for them or could’ve shielded them more. But you’re looking for reparations in the wrong place.” I’m about to start arguing with him again when someone else speaks up.
“I think my brother might have a point, Mr. Wadestaff.”
