CHAPTER FORTY

Under Attack

What kind of nobleman sits by a poisoned bodyguard’s bed?

Not that thought again—not right as she was going to work . . .

But it was kind of inevitable. Just going to work at all, these days, was winding her extra tight.

For lots of reasons.

Melín nodded to her Cohort mates at the gate of the Residence grounds, and passed through. She’d much prefer to skip the Cohort offices, but it was the only place she could be briefed with special instructions, if the Eminence had left her any.

Trudging along the gravel pathway, she thought of Pyaras again, and grunted. Both Drefne and Aripo had called her on being irritable, but she was too angry to explain.

She’d been prepared for Pyaras to lie. She hadn’t been prepared for him to tell the truth. And he had, gnash him. His face, when he’d tried to tell her—well, she knew what panic looked like.

What kind of nobleman sits by a poisoned bodyguard’s bed?

And if she believed that much, it pushed her toward believing other things he’d said. Things she wasn’t comfortable knowing, if they were true.

For one night, I knew how to celebrate being alive—and now I don’t know what to do.

That wasn’t healthy. That wasn’t the kind of person she should want to have a relationship with. She wanted the playful man, the considerate lover, the man who could think of picking a weapon holster or finding doctors at exactly the critical moment. She wanted him hard enough that it was difficult being in the same room.

Why did he have to be Grobal?

Why did he have to be the blasted Executor, of all things?

Quick crunching footsteps brought her attention back to the path. It was Fifth Sahris, running toward her. Melín sped up for a few steps; Sahris reached her, panting, and grabbed her arm.

“Get out.”

She blinked. “Where to?”

“We have orders to grab you and hold you. The others’ll be here any second. Go.”

Go? She didn’t have a lot of options; the grounds gate was quite a distance behind her by now, and if she approached it with pursuit, the guards there would seize her. Same with the Residence doors. She turned away from the Arissen section and sprinted directly toward the fence at the edge of the grounds.

Orders to grab and hold—those had to have come straight from Nekantor.

Varin’s teeth, why? So he could punish her personally? For what?

There were shouts behind her: Sahris claiming to have bumped into her accidentally and failed to take advantage, and Crenn and the others barking fury at her.

Thank you, Sahris . . .

The gardens on this side of the Residence were broad, flat, and essentially without cover. Right by the fence, the gravel paths ended, giving her stone to run on. Thank Plis, that gave her a speed advantage. One that, given their longer strides, she sorely needed. She turned right and accelerated along the fence toward the Ring.

More barks behind her. They hadn’t lost too much time over Sahris, and that meant they’d be on her faster than she wanted.

Could she reach the Ring in time to hide?

Where could she hide that they wouldn’t find her?

By the time she reached the curving wall of the Ring, they were way too close. She weaved in through the entrance. The low circular wall was no cover at all, and unless she wanted to lock herself in a locker, there was no place to hide here. She hopped the wall and backed across the center of the sand, watching the exits.

“We’ve got her now! Second, you go that way. Fourth and Fifth, that way.”

Covering the exits so she couldn’t escape. It wouldn’t have been any better if she’d kept going, though. They’d have caught up eventually.

Her heel hit the low wall. Here behind her was the chair where the Eminence had sat—and it had a roof. Could she get up there?

Too far to jump from the top of the low wall. The Eminence’s chair wasn’t much better, but the support poles looked good. She leapt onto the nearest one, clamping it between her legs and pulling herself higher, higher. She caught the edge of the roof with her left hand.

“You little tunnel-hound!”

Gods, was that—?

Going for a grip with her right hand, she missed it; her legs slipped off the pole, and she clung desperately with her left. Her body twisted awkwardly, and she saw the owner of the voice running toward her.

First Karyas—it was.

I will not be hauled off a roof by First Karyas!

Melín pulled herself up, hard, and caught the right-hand grip, backward. She swung, and with her good leg, caught Karyas with a kick in the helmet that sent her reeling back into the others coming up behind.

Quick, quick, now . . .

She swung back, kicked up, and tucked, hauling hard with her arms for the inversion and pull over. Her legs smacked down onto the roof. She shimmied backward, curled to a crouch, and pulled her knife.

“Anyone tries to climb up here’s gonna lose fingers!” Merciful Heile, why was it always fingers?

First Crenn growled and made a leap for the edge of the roof, but she struck his knuckles with her knife-hilt, and he fell back again.

She pulled her bolt weapon with her other hand.

“Try me, carrion-face.” Maybe she could light his hair on fire.

“Wait!” Karyas barked. “That’s good enough.”

“Sir,” Second Fetti protested.

“I said, it’s good enough.” Karyas gestured them to spread out. Her hands had been seriously damaged. They were scarred, weakened by the disruption burns. She wouldn’t be able to climb this roof—but it was a good bet she could still shoot. “Cover the edges of the roof so she can’t get down.”

“Why are you doing this?” Melín demanded.

Karyas pulled a smirk. “I hope you’re ready to sit up there a while.”

“Go die in a hole.” Just because they said they wanted her to sit didn’t mean they wouldn’t change their minds and start shooting, so she kept low. Then she wondered: “Am I fired?”

“Better hope that’s all you are.”

Crown of Mai, I’m fired! Finally! It was so ridiculous and perfect she started to laugh, and couldn’t stop.

“Shut up!” Karyas snapped.

She kept laughing.

“Shut up or I’ll forget Nekantor wants you alive.”

Melín gulped and stopped laughing. “He does?” she asked. “What does he want from me?”

“Oh, he doesn’t want anything from you.”

Oh, Sirin and Eyn . . . If this wasn’t about her, then she wasn’t about to be punished—she was being held hostage. And she could only think of one reason why Nekantor would do that.

What did he want from Pyaras?