Nothing marked nighttime in the slums. Not the setting sun Kael had read about in the flower books his mom forced him to read, and even less a faraway sky shining with too many tiny lights to count. Yet, even without glancing at the distant clock tower, he tensed on the bakery's rooftop.
At the entrance of the first street, thugs gathered. No beggars out. Just the growing mass of blades, spears, bows, shields, leather pauldrons and harnesses strapped to neat white shirts.
Night had brought Garrick's men with it.
A drop of sweat trailed down Kael's temple as he scowled for a familiar face among the thugs. Or rather, for a man whose cloak never moved. He counted a hundred and twenty men before unclenching his fist. Brannick didn't lead them.
Instead, his eyes found another familiar face. Silma Reed. Her dark, braided hair fluttered as she raised her right fist. The thugs fell into ranks instantly. Before they marched behind her, her light brown eyes slashed across the street.
Kael rolled flat on his back just as they settled where he had been. He clutched his drumming chest, his throat constricting a breath he refused to let out.
Did she sense me? Her truth?
He crawled to the opposite edge of the roof and let himself fall. His feet met the ground in a muffled thud, and he bolted to the third street, feeling the hammering of his heart in the veins of his neck.
Almost ripping the cloth from the doorway, he burst into his shelter. Kneeling on the ground in silent prayer, Els twisted her lips.
Tonio pushed himself from the junk wall he had been leaning against, his voice a suppressed whisper. "Now?"
"Now." Kael gripped a knife the size of his forearm from under his blankets and tucked it behind his back. "Brannick didn't come, but Silma's leading a hundred and twenty thugs."
"That many..." Els clasped her hands tighter against her chest.
"Silma?" Tonio knitted his brow for a moment. Then, he shook his head. "Not know Silma. Strong?"
"I don't know if it's her truth, but she glared at me... where I was. I think she missed me." Kael lifted his hand. It hovered over Els' trembling shoulder for a second too long. Then, he retracted it. "I can't promise you we'll return unwounded. But we will return."
She glanced at him with her watery green eyes. "I trust you..." Her voice wavered, and she wrapped her arms around him. "You still want to visit Veston, so don't let them catch you."
She looked at Tonio without letting go. "You too, Tonio. We still have many more candles to melt."
Kael pulled away as tears she failed to stop dripped down her cheeks. "We'll watch the sky one day—you, me, and Tonio." He wiped her tears with his yellowed sleeve. "I promise you."
Though he meant every word, his back never relaxed. He could die. His anchor's stress would spike. But people died, and anchors broke. From the moment the stress built in Arthur's house, the question had never been if, but when. And he was preparing for that moment.
Forcing out a smile, Els sniffed. "Remember that promise and survive even if you die."
Tonio lowered himself, locking eyes with Els. His scrunched nose eased, and his pursed lips curled down, revenge replaced by grief. "No friend dies. Promise."
He huddled into a new hug with Kael and Els.
It warmed Kael's chest. It also set his guts on fire. Giovanni and Riccardo were just the last names on the long list of brothers Tonio had outlived. Neither of them would join that list today.
"We must move. Now." He broke the hug, and Tonio followed, his features distorting again as he pressed relic 78 against his face. At the doorway, he paused. "How do I survive even if I die? Do you like me so much that you want me to haunt you?"
"As if. Get lost." The corners of Els' lips curved. At least, she wasn't crying anymore.
Grabbing Tonio's hand, Kael slithered to the alley in which they hunted rats. The small kings of the alley hid at their approach. He crouched over one of their holes, knocking three stones over it. The pieces of junk and torn clothes he had scavenged for the last four days dropped into the filth. Tonio helped him barricade the entrance until they could crouch unseen, even from above.
Plated boots clanged on pavement from the second street, and from behind the junk, his eyes narrowed at the old tannery. The barred windows had been opened, their frames reinforced with metal stretched into uneven rectangles. Rows of arrows aimed at the approaching footsteps jutted out between the protective bars.
The Sump Dogs wouldn't fall that easily.
Good.
The footsteps grew louder. He pressed a finger against his lips. Tonio nodded, his red eyes burning on the hundred and twenty men stretching across the street. Bowstrings twanged taut over roofs, terrified beggars gasping in their homes. But neither side fired.
Silma spread her palms in exaggerated theatrics. "Heard people call this a gang war. I call it an execution. But not all of you must die. Silver for those who drop their weapons. Gold to whoever backstabs the old dog and the gossipy waste of air."
Three heartbeats of silence. More arrows poked through the windows. Her voice sharpened like a blade. "Return the rat and pangolin men to Garrick, Fen."
"Or what?" Old Fen's voice echoed from the tannery. "The blistered bastard rambled about teaching Kraghor's words twenty years ago. He said the god would curse us all with a peaceless afterlife and dropped dead where he sat. I didn't attack him, and certainly haven't seen the fucking rat-man."
Kael clamped his legs to force himself still, but his breath hastened with his thoughts. Why did Garrick believe the Sump Dogs captured or killed Tonio? The whole gang war was just to find him?
Did Riccardo... I can see him protect Tonio from the burial pit... not how he misled everyone. He covered his mouth. A war for Tonio... Is he important enough for Garrick to sacrifice his men and gold? Something doesn't add up.
Before Silma could respond, Joss Renn's snarled pulled Kael back from his thoughts. "Who do you call a gossipy waste of air? You've spent so long with your whores that we lump you with them. Or are you just Garrick's personal bitch? Now I understand why he sent you instead of Brannick."
Roars of laughter burst from the tannery, arrowheads clanging against the metallic rectangles.
Old Fen's voice erupted again, relaxed this time. "Garrick can shove his gold up his ass. The only one who could make me sweat is Brannick Knuckles Holt. She was right, guys. It's an execution, just not the one she's thinking about."
When Silma's lips curled like a knife, her own men stepped back. No one laughed on her side. Most muffled their breaths behind their clattering vambraces.
Even Kael's eyes widened behind the junk. That's all they had time to do before Old Fen's voice boomed. "Aim! Shoot the bitch down!"
Arrows rained down, but Silma didn't command; her men moved first.
Long shields rose in a dark line. Arrows clanged on their surfaces, while bowstrings twanged from the roofs.
Men wailed as they collapsed from roofs. Their blood tore a grin from Kael as arrows clanged on the windows' bars of the tannery. Even though they blocked most of them, blood slowly dyed them red.
Before moving, he glared at Silma.
With a wave, two daggers appeared in her hands. In the same motion, she sliced two arrows mid-flight before her weapons vanished into her broad sleeves again. She didn't move except to defend herself with the same smirk.
He could move if Tonio remembered the plan. He pointed at the line of shields moving toward the tannery door. When Tonio followed his finger, he shook his head and pointed twice toward the archers on the roofs.
For a moment, Tonio tilted his head before his nod made Kael sigh. He remembered. Without a word, he left the dirty cloth covering him, and slowly, meticulously climbed the wall.
Only half his head poked up as he locked onto a thug whose quiver emptied faster than a water canteen in the summer. The closest man shot from the other side of the roof, far enough for him to emerge.
Before he could stand fully, Tonio blurred past him.
The sound of his dark cloak lashing in the wind made the thug spin on his heels. His brown pupils constricted, and he swung his bow—or began to.
Tonio towered in front of him before the arc even formed. He lowered a single nail distorted by relic 78, his strike barely registering in Kael's eyes.
The thug's jaw shot open, but he instantly reached for his neck. A wet gurgle escaped his lips, and blood sprayed between his fingers, from the hole punctured in his throat. He collapsed on his stomach, life dimming with the light in his eyes.
Kael rushed to Tonio, pushing his back down to make him crouch. For a tense second, he scanned the other man on the roof—still firing at the tannery. He sighed in relief.
"We continue like that. Kill them before they can scream. One hole in the throat, like an arrow wound. Good, you remembered," he whispered in Tonio's ear, who puffed out his chest.
"Kill bad Garrick men. Silence."
Nodding, Kael approached the dead thug. He turned the corpse on its back, pocketed three copper crowns from the five in his pouch, then pulled the six remaining arrows from its quiver. He shoved one into the wound in its neck and gripped the bow.
His face reddened when he drew it halfway. The other half... The string twanged back into place. Still too weak. He threw it and the arrows in the alley, then gestured toward the second thug. "This one's mine."
Tonio began to shake his head, but he interrupted him with a firm palm. "I know you have my back."