Rylan walked through Fiddlehead first and then to Slade. Callum’s Way, the large boulevard that bisected the city’s poorest neighborhood, was little more than cobblestones overrun with weeds. Some few of the streets that ran off it were paved, but most were packed dirt. The half-timber homes had sagging roofs and leaning walls, their windows dirty as the children who ran along the streets.
Rylan slowed as he approached a bustling marketplace. At the center was a palisade column, bright and new save the lower third, which was covered with graffiti. The palisade protected only half of Slade, and it must have been particularly galling to the city planners to bother with even that much, but the pillars had been constructed in a perfect circle around Ancris—Slade was just in the way.
Beyond the outer ring of market stalls was a shop with a sign above it that read: Hollis’s Historical Artifacts. A bell above the door jingled as Rylan entered. The shop was a narrow room that looked very much like Hollis’s shop in Glaeyand. The artifacts were markedly different, though. They were meant to cater to a clientele who wanted a piece of the Holt or Gorminion or Olgasus. Scattered over the shelves were dragon eyes encased in glass, steel helms with antlers, swords and knives with sharp dragon-talon hilts. There were compasses, ivory carvings, and more. Hollis often flitted between the two cities, purchasing various antiques while fencing stolen goods and arranging assignments for thieves like Rylan.
Hollis sat behind a cluttered desk wearing a tan shirt that accented his olive skin. On the desk was a bowl of mushroom stew and a hunk of bread. The savory smells made Rylan’s stomach growl.
Hollis slurped tea from a mug and set it down. “Raef said you might stop by.”
Rylan glanced down the hallway behind Hollis. “Is he here?”
Hollis shook his head. “He flew back to the Holt last night. Said you’d have something for him?”
“Well, I don’t. What are you doing, Hollis? I thought you wanted no part of this.”
Hollis shrugged. “I didn’t—believe me, I didn’t—but I owed Blythe a few favors. I promised to give her a place she could be alone.”
“Then how did Raef—”
“He found out—I don’t know.” Hollis lowered his voice. “I thought he’d come to kill her, Rylan. I thought he was going to kill me, too, but he said just to keep an eye on her. Let her do what she wanted for the time being. Threw a bag of coins on my desk for the trouble. I couldn’t say no.”
Rylan knew what it felt like to be squeezed, but he had more things to worry about. “Where is she?”
Hollis pointed to the hall behind him, which led to a stairwell and the shop’s rear door. “Third floor.”
“Thanks, Hollis.”
Rylan took the stairwell up to the third floor and a landing with a lone door. The door was unlocked and groaned as he entered. In the small sitting room, swaths of plaster were missing from the red-brick walls. On the far side of the room was a lopsided couch. Above it, a hopelessly dirty, cracked window let in a meager amount of light. A pair of threadbare stools sat along another wall. Between them was a low table laden with liquor bottles, all but one empty.
To Rylan’s right was a doorway with no door. It led to a dimly lit bedroom. He moved to the doorway and found Blythe lying on a sweat-stained mattress. She wore a tatty old night shirt, exposing bruises on her bare legs. Her eyes blinked languidly. She seemed to be staring through Rylan. Then her eyes suddenly widened, and she snatched a knife from beneath her pillow. She brandished it while propping herself up.
“Oh . . .” Her wild look of terror slowly faded. “It’s you . . .” She lay back down and slipped the knife back under her pillow.
Rylan stepped into the room and found it almost stiflingly warm. Traces of cheap liquor laced the air. The lone window on the opposite wall was covered with a thick woolen blanket. The afternoon sun beat against it. Blythe’s trousers, shirt, and sword harness hung from hooks on the right-hand wall. Near the mattress was a foot locker and, on its scratched surface, several glass vials of iridescent white brightlace with cork stoppers. The same euphoric she’d been addicted to before.
Rylan wondered just how much she’d taken since Aarik’s death. “Blythe . . .”
She followed his gaze and gave him a patronizing smile. “It’s under control.” She shifted on the mattress and patted the space she’d just made. “Lie down with me.”
Years ago, back in Thicket, Blythe had snuck through his bedroom window many times, and they had lain together, whispering deep into the night. It had been innocent when they’d been young, a way to simply be with each another. As they grew older, they explored each other’s bodies and made the first clumsy attempts at lovemaking. “That’s not why I came, Blythe.”
“No, you came to talk.” Her eyes drifted shut, and she patted the mattress again. “So come. Tell me how you’re not in a cell in the Crag.”
He nearly denied her, but the truth was he missed those youthful days. He lay down, felt the warmth coming off her, and stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling. “I escaped.”
“I can see that,” she said softly. “How?”
“You heard I was attacked?”
“Mmm . . .” Her eyes still closed, Blythe scrunched the pillow under her cheek. “A bloody great mountain tried to strangle you, and the gaoler saved your ass.”
“The mountain was a fellow named Durgan—one of the Chosen, I reckon—but the gaoler wasn’t even around. It was Lorelei.”
Blythe’s eyes opened. “The inquisitor? That Lorelei?”
Rylan rolled to face her, slipped one arm under his head, and nodded. “She poked a rather sizable hole in Durgan’s belly. Later, after Renato’s accident in the shrine . . .” He paused. “That was the Knives, yes?”
The blanket over the window blew inward, and afternoon light spilled into the room. Blythe seemed reluctant to answer, but then she shrugged. “It was the Hissing Man.”
Rylan wouldn’t have been able to pick Renato out in a crowd. Even so, he regretted the man’s death. “Did Llorn ask for it?”
She stared at him, her lips in a thin line. “Why are you here, Rylan?”
He thought about pressing her on Renato’s death, but that’s wasn’t why he was there. “I know what Llorn is planning to do here in Ancris.”
“Oh really? Enlighten me.”
“He means to destroy the city in a geoflare.”
The room was dim, but her cheeks flushed. “How did you find out?”
“Lorelei figured it out. How do you know? I thought Aarik kept you in the dark.”
“Llorn told me.”
“Just like that, Llorn told you?”
“No, not just like that. He was testing me. If I’d gone against him . . .”
She didn’t have to finish. As with Hollis, Rylan felt badly about her predicament, but in her case, he could do something about it. It meant putting Blythe in danger, but Llorn had to be stopped. “We can’t let him do this, Blythe.”
“Can’t we?”
“No,” he said, “we can’t, and Aarik wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“Aarik is dead. Llorn is King of the Wood now, and I owe him my allegiance.”
“Aarik wanted peace, Blythe. You can’t just abandon that.”
Blythe laughed. “Peace died the moment the empire chained Aarik to the Anvil. Llorn would never agree to it, and even if he did, your father would never work with him. You know he wouldn’t. And why do you care, anyway? They killed your uncle. Lucran blamed us for his son’s overdose and started a war. The empire is a sickness that has plagued the Holt for centuries. It’s time they were cleansed.”
Rylan shook his head. “Those are Llorn’s words.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not true.”
“Look, I’m not saying we don’t have grievances. We do. But killing everyone isn’t the answer.”
“You know so fucking much?” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Well, did you know this was all the Hissing Man’s idea? He’s the one who wants this, and he’s one of them. We’re merely seizing the opportunity.”
“Blythe, somewhere in the fens, there’s a device like the palisade collecting umbra. Tell me where it is. That’s all I ask. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Blythe barked a laugh. “No, Rylan. The crucible is the key to everything. It’s going to give us power like we never imagined.”
“Like who never imagined? Llorn or Aarik?”
She turned her head away from him. “Stop saying his name.”
“I can’t.” He paused, hoping to cushion the blow. “Blythe, I need to tell you something that you’re not going to like.”
Blythe turned back to him, eyebrow raised. “Go on, then . . .”
Rylan had a second thought—maybe he shouldn’t tell her. It’s the right thing to do, he decided finally. She has a right to know.
“Rylan, will you bloody spit it out already—”
“Llorn had Aarik killed.”
She stared at him, then she fell back on the pillow. “He didn’t.”
“He used a lucerta from Fraoch to compel Tomas, forced him to go to Lorelei and Creed and snitch about the meeting at the mine, then he killed Tomas.”
Blythe shook her head. “Wrong! Tomas was killed for being a traitor.”
“He was killed because he knew too much.”
Blythe sat up against the wall. “Those are lies, Rylan. They’re all fucking lies. The empire killed Aarik.”
“You know Llorn, Blythe. You know he would do anything to stop Aarik from making peace.”
Blythe grabbed the knife from beneath the pillow and stood. She looked just like she had when she’d stabbed him in the side years ago. “I know he’s a bastard, but he wouldn’t do that.”
Rylan rolled away from her and came to a stand. “Don’t fool yourself. Everyone knew Aarik and Llorn didn’t see eye to eye on the future of the Red Knives. Everyone knew Llorn was going to rise up against Aarik eventually.”
“Shut your mouth, Rylan.”
“Why? You know it’s true! Llorn thought Aarik was weak. Then Aarik found out about Llorn and the Hissing Man. He demanded that Llorn bend the knee, but Llorn had already come too far.”
She gripped the blade tightly, forearm shaking. “I said shut up!”
“Llorn arranged Aarik’s death so he—”
Blythe leapt over the bed, slashing with her knife. Rylan leaned away from it, knowing it was only a threat, then retreated to the doorway.
“Blythe, just listen—”
She stalked toward him, and he backed into the sitting room. He grabbed a cushion from the couch and held it like a shield. Blythe swung the knife, but Rylan just pushed it away with the cushion. Some wool stuffing floated to the floor. She roared and charged again, tried to sneak the knife under his guard, managed to nick his right arm, but he grabbed her wrist and twisted it. She grunted, bared her teeth, and dropped the knife.
He kicked it spinning across the floor and wrestled her down. She struggled, but the fight was already leaving her. Her head thumped on the floorboards, and her body went lax. “Get the fuck off me.”
He rolled away and lay on the dirty floorboards, felt a trickle of blood on his forearm and used his sleeve to stanch the flow. For a time, they just lay there breathing heavily.
Blythe sat up and raked her fingers through her tousled hair.
“Where is the crucible, Blythe?” Rylan pressed.
She looked at him sadly. “It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not. Just tell me.”
“You don’t know what Llorn is like. He’s already killed a dozen men who refused to bend the knee to him.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Blythe laughed and waved a hand around at the room. “He’ll know you were here.”
Rylan wasn’t sure what to say next. Blythe was terrified of Llorn, maybe too terrified to tell him. “Do you believe in the old ways?”
“Of course I do,” she spat.
“Then you know Aarik is watching you.”
“Fuck you, Rylan. The dead are dead. I need to worry about the living.”
“Where’s the crucible, Blythe?”
Blythe’s jaw worked. Her eyes reddened. “I loved him, you know. If it weren’t for Llorn, we’d have been happy.”
“I know you did. And he loved you. I could see it. I was happy for you. Truly.”
“It might’ve worked. We might have finally had peace . . .”
“It would have been great.”
She stood up and walked back into her room, threw off her nightshirt—her back was scarred and had bright red marks that would never heal—and put on a stained white shirt, trousers and boots.
“Where are you going?” Rylan asked.
“None of your fucking business.”
“Please tell me where the crucible is.”
“You already know where it is.”
“No, I don’t.”
She strapped on her belt and grabbed her waistcoat and sword harness from the hook on the wall. Then she headed past him to the door. “Yes, Rylan, you do.” She opened the door, walked out, and slammed it behind her.
Rylan stood there, wracking his brain, trying to think what Blythe meant. He went downstairs and found Hollis sitting at his desk, staring at the front door to the shop.
“What, under bright sun or dark, did you do to piss her off?” Hollis asked.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. Just stormed out.”
Rylan wondered if he’d made a mistake telling her. In all likelihood, she was headed to the Holt to confront Llorn. Llorn would probably kill her for it, but there was nothing Rylan could do about it now.
Thinking about Llorn made him think about the Red Knives, and that reminded him of his journey to help Bellicor, of Vedron tugging at her reins as they approached the Rookery. “Bough and bloody fucking branch, why didn’t I think of it before?” Vedron had sensed the store of umbra in the crucible. She’d been trying to fly toward it to investigate, and Rylan had stopped her.
He headed through the cramped shop to the front door. The door jingled as he opened it. Then he turned toward Hollis. “You need to leave the city.”
“What? Why?”
“Trust me, Hollis. Leave Ancris. Do it tonight.”
Rylan ran out the door and down the street toward The Bent Tulip.