Blood of the Underworld(58)

“Do you love me, Delysia?” he whispered.

She met his eye, and he saw the hardness in her soften. She nodded, and he reached for her. She curled against his chest, and he let his hands surround her, let his face press against her hair as he kept his breathing controlled so he would not cough blood upon her. Together they lay there, not moving, not talking. The comfort of their presence was enough.

“I don’t know if I can,” Haern said after a time. “I’ve hurt everyone I loved. And I can’t hurt you, Delysia. I could never live if I did.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’ll still be here. I always will be.”

A memory came to him, from when they were just children, and he still in the care of his father. Together they’d met in secret on a rooftop, for Thren had denied him any knowledge of faith or love, all to make him the perfect killer. With Delysia, Haern had glimpsed a life with meaning, with purpose...only to have Thren shoot Delysia with an arrow, her bleeding body falling into his arms. That she’d survived at all was a miracle, a parting gift from another woman he’d loved before Thren killed her, as well. He thought of that moment, of how his cruel life had so vehemently rejected such a light as hers.

He couldn’t bear the thought of it again. He couldn’t hold her in his arms and watch her die. Whatever good in him existed would break. Did she know that? Did she understand?

“Let me sleep,” he said.

Her fingers went to stroke his cheek, but hesitated just before. Before she could pull away, he leaned forward, forcing the touch, turning his face so she could cup him with her hand. She said nothing, only held him for a moment, before leaving him alone in his room to sleep.

But instead of sleeping, he turned to one side and watched the distant flicker of flame that spread throughout his city, burning away like a hundred candles lit in memorial.



“These damn idiots have a funny way of celebrating,” Brug muttered as he kicked a corpse that lay at his feet. Tarlak had to agree.

“Whatever they don’t want, they’re burning,” Tarlak said, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Good thing they want nearly everything.”

The two stood near the center of town, before a home with wrecked windows and a smashed in door. Tarlak could only begin to guess why they’d chosen that particular place. The owner lay at the entrance, dragged out and throat cut. They’d arrived too late to do much of anything other than give the dead man vengeance. Three dead Wolves—just a fraction of the guilds roaming the night.

“It’s all meager pickings,” Brug said, wiping blood off his punch daggers. “Been out here for hours, and only small-time stuff. One of them’s got to have something bigger planned. Maybe the Connington’s place, or Alyssa’s.”

“Might not have any place big to hit,” Tarlak said, walking aimlessly north. “Both have got their places crawling with guards. It’s the rest of the city that’s vulnerable, but Victor and Antonil have got their men running round like mad.”

“Still a big city,” Brug grumbled.

Tarlak shot his friend a look.

“You sound disappointed.”

Brug shrugged.

“Was hoping to gut a bunch of thieves. Only seems fair, given what they did to Haern. Instead, they’d rather set fires, burn down some stalls, and then run like cowards. Pathetic.”

“Thieves tend to not be known for their bravery.”

They followed the road, listening for sounds of combat and keeping their eyes open for signs of fire. Much as he might mock Brug for it, he understood how he felt. They’d expected far more chaos, a true call to arms in celebration of the Watcher’s death. The night was half over, and all they’d seen was little worse than the food riots they’d had in years prior.

“Maybe all the patrols are actually working,” Tarlak said, voicing his thoughts.

“Haven’t seen anything by the Spider Guild,” Brug said.

“Ash Guild tore them up pretty bad. They might be sitting this one out.”

Brug laughed.

“Yeah. I believe that.”

Tarlak shrugged.

“Can always hope, right?”

A deep explosion roared from near the castle, hard enough to shake the ground they stood upon. Brug tapped his daggers together.

“Nope.”

They hurried north, passing by wrecked stalls, broken windows, and dark alleys that all seemed filled with men and women lurking within the shadows. Tarlak couldn’t help but feel like they were waiting for something, just stalling for the true celebration. If anything, perhaps they were wondering if the Watcher would appear and prove the rumors untrue. Every spreading fire, every theft unpunished, only confirmed his absence.