Chapter Nineteen

“Damnit, Killian!” Kane yelled as plumes of angry charcoal smoke swelled into the sky. A few streets away, bells rang and hooves thundered past, undoubtedly heading for the charred remains of Sal and his bakery. “Why couldn’t you have just killed him right away? You missed, like, three times.”

“You know I never miss,” Killian shot back. “He was cute. I was just playing with him.” She pouted. “And it’s your fault we took off after the captain’s horse. The rider illusion didn’t even have any limbs!”

“Yeah, well, you only noticed that when the entire body started evaporating!”

“At least I noticed at all,” she retorted. “Otherwise we would have actually chased it down, and that would have been a lot more embarrassing. And besides . . .” Her features shifted into her killing mask, her pupils dilating until they filled the whites of her eyes completely, save for a thin circle of amber in the center. Her canines tripled in length, sharper than knives. She traced her tongue down one languidly, her lips curling in fiendish delight when an unsettled Kane averted his gaze from the weight of her ancient, cruel stare. “They’re just letting the game continue. And you know that toying with clever prey is my favorite pastime.”

He shuddered. “Right. Well, we’d better find Rivaille. Make sure he didn’t turn into a pile of ash or something like that.”

“Try not to sound so eager,” came a familiar drawl from behind them. Rivaille stalked over to them, his ponytail strewn with cinders and his normally pristine robes and gloves scorched black. “I’m right here.”

Kane started. “How in hell—forget it. Gloved bastard.”

Rivaille’s lips spread into a full-on, pearly white grin. “Funny, one of the queen’s Elites called me the exact same thing right before he blew himself up.”

Kane bared his teeth. “Is that some kind of threat?”

Killian just rolled her eyes and took off down an alley dyed bright magenta. The wind moved in tandem with her as she glided along the cobblestones. “We’re on a deadline here!” she called over her shoulder. “Get a move on!” Her own shadow took shape beneath her to soften her footfalls, guiding her past shops just opening for business and spooked horses.

In no time, Rivaille caught up to her. His own steps never quite touched the ground, either. He flexed his left hand, lessening the horizontal pull of gravity that he had created for himself to match her pace. “Where to?”

“Downtown.” She pushed herself harder, but he simply splayed his right hand and matched her for every step. “They’re leaving via the harbor, so all we have to do is keep an eye on their ship.”

Rivaille’s eyebrows raised an almost unnoticeable millimeter. “And which ship would that be?”

“According to our mole, they’ll be docking in Dame’s Port, and only three ships leaving within the day share Eradore as their destination.”

“How do we know that they’re leaving today?”

“If your lover had been torn from you by sickness and had just opened their eyes for the first time in eight moons, how desperate would you be to see them?”

He simply looked at her.

“Right, I forgot, you wouldn’t know,” Killian muttered. “Anyway, you’d want to take the first boat possible.”

“Well, then—”

“And before you ask which boat leaves earliest,” she cut in, “they’re all conveniently scheduled to leave at the same time.” She frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Her shadow yanked her sideways, just barely saving her from a surprise encounter with a lamppost. “Immortals, Kane is so slow. Where is he?” She signaled to her fellow hireling and they veered around a brick wall to wait.

It took Killian a moment to notice that Rivaille was scowling at the ground. “What now?”

“I could have guessed, you know.”

“What?”

His scowl deepened. “Just because I’m not interested in sexual intimacy doesn’t mean I don’t understand what it means to love.”

“I never said that,” Killian protested. She thought back. “Well, I didn’t mean it. But I’m sorry that it came out that way. And besides, you know that of all people, I—”

Of course, that was the moment Kane finally chose to appear, panting like a cow in labor. “Damn . . . you . . . both!” he exclaimed, bending in half. “And . . . your stupid . . . magic!”

Killian smirked at him. “What took you so long?”

He straightened, his chest still heaving. “I found a trail. So I decided to follow it.”

“A turtle’s trail?” Rivaille deadpanned.

Kane flushed scarlet. “No!” he yelled over Killian’s laughter. “A queen’s trail. Some trees started shaking even though there wasn’t any wind. At first, I thought it might be an earthquake, but it was too centralized. She must have escaped underground.” He pointed farther down the cliff. “There’s a grove over there, straight in their path and too thick to tunnel through. They’ll have to diverge either left or right.”

“Or both,” Killian remarked.

Kane made a face. “How would you know?”

“I’ve been in this business for centuries.” She tilted her chin. “And even if I’m wrong, we can just reconvene after the fact.”

The white-haired hireling exhaled through his nose. “Fine. So what’s our plan?”

“From what I’ve been told,” said Killian, “the queen used to visit Orielle often with her king father. She must know the city’s spread fairly well.” She squinted down the twin cliffs at two identical squares of land, both covered in brightly colored rows of stacked boxes. “Shipping container yards on either side,” she said, pointing them out to the others. “Perfect place to hide, and close enough to the harbor to make a break for it.” She smiled. The game continues. “So we split up. Last one to the captain is a salted flounder.”

“I hold first pick,” Rivaille cut in. “It’s me to both of you, one-nil.”

Kane made a noise of protest. “You were the one who told us to go after the captain! Any of us could have killed that small fry.”

“Yeah, and he basically fried himself,” Killian said.

Rivaille shrugged. “Not my problem. I choose left.”

“I’ll take right, then,” Kane said.

Killian grinned, glancing back and forth between them. “Ooh, goody. Who shall I choose to torment . . . ?”

Dread dawned on Kane’s features. “No, wait, don’t—”

She slung an arm around his shoulders, her shadow holding its stomach in mirth on the sidewalk. “Too late.”

Kane let out a gloomy sigh and trudged along with her like a man bound for the gallows. “Damn everything.”

She winked. “Brighten up, sweetheart. It’s time for murder.”