Beside Hook, the only other bandit in the room was Stone. The big man didn’t say a word as he ran a razor over his head, shaving. He always kept his head bald. He had the build of a boulder, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked.
“Just sit down, Hook,” Stone muttered. “Stop pretending you’re Ust.”
“I’m Ust when he’s not here! And Creg, you ain’t supposed to be back yet.”
Creg shrugged and leaned against the wall. He looked nervous. Ōbhin smiled before ducking out of sight. Ust wouldn’t be happy that Creg had been spotted. The Qothian’s hand gripped the pommel of his resonance blade. He inspected the wall. The building had once been painted a vibrant red, but it had faded to a dull crimson. Streaks of brown crusted down the sides in places, spilling off from the roof. Where the paint peeled, the wood beneath was gray and rotting. He could hack through it. Two slashes of his sword across it, and he could kick through the wall and take off Ust’s head.
First, Ust had to be in there.
“Let Ust deal with you,” muttered Hook.
“When is he getting here?” Whiner Creg asked.
“Eager to get your bunghole reamed?” asked Hook. “You’re supposed to be watching Ōbhin. You better not have found a whore to scale your tower.”
“I know what Ust told me,” Creg said. A chair creaked like someone sat in it. “Anything to drink?”
“Just the piss they call ale here,” said Stone.
“Why are we in this cesspit?”
“Ust’s choice,” Hook answered.
“Could have picked a place with a landlord that brews a decent beer,” Creg groused. “Black’s foul piss, is Ust upstairs tumbling Ruvine? I thought he was supposed to be here.”
“He went out,” said Hook. “He’ll be back.”
Ōbhin just had to wait. To be patient—
Footsteps creaked down the alley. He whirled around. A rat scurried into view. It darted towards him before its beady eyes realized he was there. With a squeak, it scampered to the right and vanished into a hole in the foundation of a warehouse. The footsteps came closer. He tightened his hand on the sword hilt. A shadow appeared then a figure stepped around the corner.
Ōbhin’s sword whipped from its scabbard.
*
Avena gasped, flinching as Ōbhin cut short his slash. She almost fell on her rump. Her face went pale. She clutched the front of her dress, gripping the pattern of red beads. Her heart pumped cold ice through her veins. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard as she gulped in breaths.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low. “You followed me?”
“Obviously.” She shifted. “I thought you might be . . .”
“Sneaking off to see Grey?” Derision twisted across his brown features. “You still think I work for him?”
Avena shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been . . . moody.”
“Haven’t you?”
“I have good reason,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. Her eyes flicked to the wall. “Is it Ust? He’s here?”
“Not yet.” His hand rested on the emerald jewelchine inserted in the pommel of his sword. “Some of them are.”
“Are you going to . . . ?” She made a vague slashing gesture.
He nodded once. A short, almost defiant jerk.
“You must be the only man with a resonance blade in the city. After the riots, the guards have to know about it. About you. If you kill someone with it, they’ll investigate you.” A hand squeezed about her heart. “You plan on leaving.” Before she could stop herself, she crossed the two cubits between them and grabbed his sword arm beneath the sleeve of his leather tunic he wore underneath the chainmail. “You can’t do that.”
“I can,” he said. “I will.”
Her hand tightened. This dread in her swelled, a hollow pit looming inside of her. She didn’t know why she felt terrified by that fact. She wasn’t sure she could trust the man half the time. She should hate him. Fear him, but . . .
She had to convince him to stay. She could muddle out her emotions later.
She had to think. She had time. Ust wasn’t here. She stepped back from Ōbhin. He eyed her as she leaned against the wall under the eave. The rain drifted down, a fine mist that wetted his black hair. Drops ran down his face. He ignored it, ignored her, and studied the wall. He was ready to act.
He’ll cut his way through and take off Ust’s head. Avena wanted to let him. If any deserved death, it was Ust. Yet this wasn’t justice shining bright with Elohm’s White. This was an assassination. Murder was no different than any other act of banditry.
She worried her lower lip as she pondered the words to convince Ōbhin to stay.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A fog spilled off the river as the day lengthened. Three times had the Rainbow Belfry chimed the hour. Ōbhin glanced at Avena. She sat on a crate, her head lowered. She had a desperate look as she drifted through her thoughts, a youth floundering in a blizzard. She saw nothing but white in every direction and knew if she chose wrong, she would find only a slow, numbing death.
His thumb rubbed across the sword’s jewelchine, feeling the gold wires.
“Where is he, Hook?” Creg would say from time to time.
“He’ll be here soon,” Hook grunted in a tone of a soldier passing time, not caring.
“That’s what you said an hour ago. And an hour before that. Do you know what that stained word even means?”
“Yep. It means soon.” Hook chuckled. “Eager for Ust to peel your hide?”
Avena stood up from the crate, her skirts rustling. He glanced at her. Rain sprinkled her shoulders, soaking into the dark fabric
