laugh.
'Be quick about it,' Markus rasped. 'And slit her throat before you dump her off the end.'
'Let me do it,' a skinny Brother said. His ropy lips turned up in a grin as he pulled a long dirk from his belt.
They put her down on the weather-worn boards, and someone yanked back her head. Josey lifted her eyes. Stars sparkled overhead, blurred by her tears. She panted in terror. This can't be happening.! But it was. She was going to die.
Josey braced herself for the touch of the steel. The waiting seemed to last for ages. Then, something warm spattered the side of her face. The hands holding her let go. Boots pounded on the pier. She lifted her bound hands to wipe away the wetness. Three Sacred Brothers sprawled on the slats, bleeding out their wretched lives. The rest watched the night with their swords out.
Caim!
She knew right away it was him. Her suspicion was proved correct when Red Beard fell at her feet with his throat sliced open. A sliver of bloody steel flashed in the dark and was gone, only to reappear on the other side of the melee to drink again.
Josey struggled with her bonds. If she could get free while they fought, she might be able to slip away in the confusion. Her gaze fell on the slim dagger sheathed on Red Beard's belt. She scooted over to his corpse. Suppressing her revulsion, she caught hold of the leather-wrapped hilt and tugged the knife free, then began sawing at the thick rope that bound her wrists. Strand by strand the rope parted. Though the blade was sharp, her range of movement was limited and she had to hold the knife at an awkward angle. Josey sobbed with relief when the last piece gave way; she went to work on the loops binding her ankles.
The fighting continued around her and more men died. Caim was out there, killing to save her. For the second time, if he'd told the truth. Josey's head spun. She ought to be terrified out of her mind as the man who had killed her father, or would have killed him, battled her present captors. And yet, she was calm. Something had changed within her. The darkness didn't frighten her as before. She brushed the thoughts away. Caim was an admitted killer. Why would he care to keep her alive? He must know she would go straight to the authorities, the proper authorities, as soon as she was free. He had to have an ulterior motive, some secret he was keeping from her.
She almost cut her leg as the dagger slipped and sliced her nightgown. She concentrated on severing the rope's last fibers. Once free, she scrambled to her feet. Her escape from the pier was blocked by the melee. From what she could see, only Markus and a handful of his men remained, but it would only take one to notice her and finish the job.
As Josey took tentative steps toward the edge of the combat, a shadow emerged from the dark. It swept past the swarm of men, evaded their attacks, and raced down the wharf on whisper-quiet steps. Hard gray eyes peered from the depths of a deep hood. Josey was relieved in a way she'd never thought she would be. Caim grabbed her around the waist as he ran by and snatched her off her feet.
'Wha-!'
He leapt.
For one marvelous moment they were airborne. The bay breeze swept up her hair in its cool fingers as she floated in the night sky. She clutched Caim about the shoulders, and let her fingers roam over the play of powerful muscles beneath his black shirt.
The steely twang of a bowstring broke the spell. Josey felt the impact as Caim jerked like a giant fist had punched him in the back. The force of the blow knocked their trajectory askew. Instead of a graceful landing, they hit the dark waters like two falling stones.
The impact knocked the breath from Josey's lungs. She gasped, and icy seawater flooded her lungs as their combined weight pulled them under the surface. She struggled against Calm's grip, but his arm remained locked around her waist.
Her limbs grew heavy; her thrashing slowed. She screamed out her last precious bubbles of air as the choking abyss closed around her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
aim collapsed at the water's edge, unable to crawl another foot. Every movement sent spasms of red-hot agony racing through him. The frigid bay waters had leeched away the last of his strength and left him a shivering mass of exhaustion.
Echoes of lapping water reverberated off stone walls, barely discernable in the darkness. After hitting the water, he had managed to find one of the submerged sewer pipes that carried effluvia into the bay. An iron grate had once barred the entry, but it'd rusted away long ago-a convenient access into the city he'd discovered a few years back while prepping for a job.
He took a deep breath and regretted it as a tremor of pain wracked his body. He hadn't heard the crossbow fire, but the bolt's impact had almost been enough to kill him outright. He managed to hold on to consciousness long enough to swim down deep into the inky waters, away from their enemies. No one had followed them. No surprise there. Whoever shot him must have thought it was a killing blow. Unfortunately, time might bear out that assumption. He'd lost a lot of blood. He could tell by the way his hands shook when he tried to pull himself out of the water that he wouldn't survive long without a chirurgeon, but he wasn't likely to find one down here. Even if he could walk, it wouldn't be safe. He knew a couple of cut-men who would treat an injury like this with no questions asked, but they might be compromised. Whoever was behind this fiasco had proven to be both intelligent and savvy.
A weak groan murmured behind him. Caim pulled himself over to the girl. She lay half in the water, facedown. He rolled her over despite the agony it caused him. Her nightgown was a tattered mess, stained with blood, mud, and worse. The wet silk clung to her body like a second skin. Yet she had the heart of a lion. She hadn't screamed while he fought her captors or cowered at the sight of blood. Instead, she'd gotten hold of a knife and cut herself free.
The girl's teeth chattered between blue lips. The pipe was freezing, but Caim didn't have anything to make a fire. This is where I'll die. He had been dealing in death for so long it held little mystery for him. He would close his eyes and drift away to the sound of the water. It was probably a better end than he deserved. With one hand on the girl's stomach, he listened to her breathe. She would live, at least. For some reason that made him feel better.
A voice intruded on his solace. He smiled as Kit descended through the ceiling. The violet glow of her tight smock illuminated the tunnel, showing ancient walls caked with mud and lichen. The grime of the sewer didn't touch her. Caim had often wished he could fly like her, just take off and leave the world behind. He could never understand why she hung around with him when she could be soaring among the clouds. Kit said it was because he needed her, that without her he would get into all sorts of trouble. It seemed she was right yet again.
'Caim, what have you done to yourself?' Kit asked in a choked voice as she alighted beside him. Strangely, she seemed more concerned about his foot, which throbbed on the periphery of his awareness.
Before he attacked the Sacred Brothers holding the girl, he had told Kit to keep an eye out for trouble, but she had flown off in a huff. That was Kit, always marching to the rhythm of her own song. She hadn't changed a dram in all the time he'd known her. His whole life. Now she would watch him die. The thought made him laugh, which turned into an excruciating grunt.
'I had a little help.' His throat was dry and cracked. That struck him as funny with all the water lying around him, but he refrained from laughing. He put on a brave face for her. 'It's not that bad.'
'Yes, it is. We need to get you to a barber.'
He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair. 'You think I need a trim?'
'Don't play games, Caim. This is serious.'
'It'll all be over soon. We had a good run, Kit. No one can say we didn't.'
She tsked at him. 'It's not over yet.'
'You going to carry me out of here, Kit? That would be something to see.'
