13 RYIA

Well, that was a mistake. Ryia shook herself as she sprinted through the city, Nash and the others close behind. She should have stayed out of it, let Captain Honor clean up her own damned mess. Of course, maybe it was just a coincidence the way Nash’s eyes had followed the path of that axe, the way Evelyn had squinted at her like she’d shown up dressed as a Borean medev guard. Maybe no one had seen the weapon curve.…

She unconsciously tapped her belt. Ryia had practiced with these weapons more hours in her life than most people had slept in theirs, but that wasn’t the only reason she never missed her mark. She was connected to these blades in a way few could understand.

She slid on the cobblestones, skidding to a stop as half a company of guards sprinted past them one alley over. They were heading for the docks. Ryia shared an anxious look with Nash and Tristan, then drew her largest hatchets from the sheaths across her back. Whose idea had it been to leak her location to the Needle Guard?

Oh, right.

It had better be worth it. If Clem somehow made it onto that ship…

“Go on. I’ll take care of these assholes,” she said, turning to chase down the guards.

Tristan nodded obediently, but Evelyn stepped forward. “You will not draw the blood of a single member of the Needle Guard. Not while I’m around.” She pulled her sword free of its sheath, leveling the blade at Ryia’s heart.

“You sure you want to do this, Captain? I’ve seen you in action. Not impressed.” Ryia whirled her hatchets around her wrists. “Here’s a tip—the fighting goes a lot easier when you don’t waste time trying to purge everyone of their sins.”

“It sounds like you’re telling me that having a conscience is a crime.”

Ryia laughed. “South of the trade docks it is.” She tapped her breast pocket, feeling the stolen scrolls rustle beneath the heavy black fabric. “Look, you’ve got us our maps, so your job is done. Run along now.”

“You heard your master, pup. If he doesn’t get his prize, I don’t get mine. Besides, the sooner your honorless arse is out of Dresdell, the better in my book. I’m getting you onto your bloody ship.”

“You sure you’re not just getting sweet on me, Captain?”

Evelyn didn’t respond, but she looked roughly like someone had just told her to swallow a dock rat whole.

Ryia patted her shoulder, pushing past her. “It’s all right. It happens all the time—just ask Ivan—”

Ryia broke off as the familiar smells of brackish water and rotting fish were suddenly replaced by the crushing scent of mildew. Blood and earth and decay. The strongest she had smelled in years. Now? Of all the fucking times—

“Are you all right?” Tristan asked. She didn’t answer, and he leaned forward. “Ryia, are you okay?”

She turned left, then right, trying to get a lock on the scent. “Get to the ship,” she said. Then she grabbed hold of the nearest windowsill and clambered up the wall and out of sight.

Ryia skittered across the rooftops, stopping to crouch behind a gable and sneak a peek toward the trade docks to the north. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the Needle Guard were just more dangerous than she had thought, or maybe her nose was extra sensitive today.…

Her stomach turned to lead as her eyes found the sloops docked there. Disciples.

It had been nineteen months since she had seen ships like those. The ships that had dogged her, haunting her steps for the past nine years. If they were already docked, the Disciples were already in the city. Combing the streets. Looking for her.

Well, that settled it—she had officially overstayed her welcome in this city. She knew what would happen next… a fate she had narrowly escaped a dozen times before. The cunning Disciples would come for her with every ounce of strength they had in those miserable bones of theirs. If she was caught, she wouldn’t be leaving Carrowwick alive. She was dangerous, not just for her skills, but for how she’d obtained them.

The Guildmaster could hardly let the secret get out that Adept gifts could be stolen, could he?

They would open her throat and leave her to bleed into the gutter. Then throw her into the Arden, or let her be found by the Saints so she could be buried under a headstone with a name that wasn’t her own. Have her bullshit namestone hung in some tree outside the city. Right—no thanks.

She poked her head over the edge of the rooftop, peering down at the docks. One thing at a time. Disciples aside, her plan was going perfectly. The Lottery was currently in turmoil, the maps in her pocket, Callum Clem still nowhere to be found. Now all that was left was to get the crew out of Carrowwick, preferably before those Disciple bastards removed her head from her neck.

She looked down at her crew. Tristan took the rear while Evelyn prowled up front, fluid as a jungle cat. Between them were Nash and Ivan, the respective brawn and brains of the team. They tumbled to a clumsy stop a stone’s throw from the Seasnake’s Revenge, halted by two burly guards.

“Is that Evelyn fuckin’ Linley? Hangin’ around with this dock scum?” the guard on the left chortled. “Oh, Patrick’ll love this.”

His companion added, “Didn’t take you long to find your proper place, did it?”

Evelyn’s jaw set firmly, but her hand didn’t even twitch toward her sword. She looked from side to side instead, searching for an escape route.

Ryia rolled her eyes, pulling two smaller throwing axes from her belt. “We have to do everything, don’t we?” she remarked to the weapons, flying them toward the guards.

Reaching out with her stolen Kinetic power, Ryia guided one toward the front man’s spine, and pulled the second around to lodge itself in the other man’s face. She grimaced as it drove home. Retrieving an axe from a skull was always disgusting work.

Tristan jumped back as both men flopped, lifeless, to the dock. Ryia forced a cocky grin, waving down at them. Evelyn glared up at her, then turned in a huff as Nash dragged the group toward her ship, casting its imposing shadow over the docks a few steps away.

Ryia hopped off the edge of the roof, hooking her fingers around the gutters and dropping to the ground some fifteen feet below. “Don’t worry about it—I’ll get them,” she called after her teammates, wiping the gory bits clean and returning the axes to her belt.

Her comrades sprinted up the gangplanks and onto the Seasnake’s Revenge. Still not a Disciple in sight. If her luck could hold just a few minutes longer…

Then her nose caught fire. The vile stench of danger was so immediate, so potent that her knees almost gave out. Ryia pulled the two long-handled hatchets from her back again, spinning and raising them in an X above her head just in time to catch the scimitar as it whistled toward her skull. The force of the blow was inhuman. Her arms shook but didn’t buckle. Without her Adept abilities she would never have been strong enough to hold it or fast enough to block it in the first place. There was a reason everyone in Thamorr bowed to the Guildmaster and his Disciples; because it was certain death to face one.

At least, it was supposed to be.

“Grayson, we meet at last,” the Disciple said softly.

Ryia stared up at the man holding the blade. At the swirling robes of vivid blue, the cruel eyes, the shaven head tattooed with a tangle of elaborate symbols.

“That’s not my name,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Something curdled in her stomach as the Disciple studied her. Something she hadn’t felt since the last time she’d been face-to-face with one of these bald motherfuckers. Fear. All the Adept were tough in a fight, but the Disciples were all stronger than any mindless branded servant on the mainland. She gritted her teeth as the man smirked down at her. At least she would have no qualms about killing him, if she got the chance. The brainwashed Adept hadn’t chosen their lives, but this asshole had certainly chosen his. Chosen to help the Guildmaster find and enslave the other Adept. Chosen to help the Guildmaster hunt her down.

Fear spiked in her again as her nose seared once more, this time the stench coming from her left. Shit. She ducked into a ball, rolling out from underneath the Disciple’s blade, frantically leaping back. A second Disciple appeared on the docks beside her, his own blade moving so fast that it was nothing but a blur of polished steel. She stumbled back, falling solidly on her tailbone as the sword swung down. It missed her by less than an inch, connecting firmly with the splintering dock.

Ryia struggled to her feet again, eyes flicking toward the Revenge. She spun her hatchets, the steel bits singing as they cut through the thick summer air. She had an important decision to make. Fight or run…

To get to the ship, and to salvage the mission, she needed to fight.… Her stomach clenched as both Disciples took a dreamlike step forward. Their tattoos seemed to swim in the humid air as they took another step, blades at the ready.

She had to fight.

On second thought… fuck that.

The Disciples swung in unison, blades reflecting the light of the setting sun as they moved to cut her to pieces. But it was too late—Ryia was already gone. She was nothing more than a jet-black blur against the horizon as she turned from the Seasnake’s Revenge and ran for her life.