Chapter Four: Spiral

  “Come on,” Bryn orders. She drags the man along. Dax mutters a curse, breathing heavily. He’s been slacking off. Hasn’t seen him in the training yard all week. Bryn thinks she knows why. She scrutinizes his fancy coat. “That new?” she asks, voice flat.

  Dax scowls. “Really? Now?”

  “Stolen or bought?” she demands. Usually she wouldn’t have cared. But Dax can’t be bothered to steal what he can afford to buy. The answer willd tell her what she needs to know.

  He doesn’t answer. Just swears more loudly as he stumbles over a loose stone. Bryn lets it go for now. At a loss for how to handle her brother without Marken. And that is something she never would have guessed a few years ago.

  But right now they have more pressing concerns. They maneuver their victim deeper into the alleys. Near the pleasure quarters. Even in broad daylight, no one here. Not far from where they used to sleep. Squatted in a filthy corner, battling rats for garbage. Bryn’s senses sharpen. Anticipation ripples down her spine. “Here,” she says, shoving the man to the ground. Dax straightens. Groans. She shoots him a look. “Make yourself useful. Cover him.”

  Heaving a sigh as heavy as if she’d asked him to run home and rebuild the broken gate, Dax draws his sword and retreats a few steps. Bryn crouches in front of the man. Takes the moment to examine him. Unshaven. Scar below his right ear. Bushy eyebrows. Round and muscled. Not starving or desperate. Not professional, either. She rummages through his pockets, turning up a coin purse, a plain iron dagger, and a folded square of parchment. Gives the man a quick glance to make sure he’s still unconscious and unfolds the square.

  Her heart stops. Vision swims.

  Not because of what it says. A series of marks and dots. Code. One she doesn’t know. But at the bottom a rough spiral. Coiled at the center. Spiralling outward.

  She draws a shaky breath. Then another. Passes it to Dax without a word.

  He stares at it for a long time, sword pointed at the ground. Forgotten. Sloppy. She can’t blame him. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he says at last.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  He’s still staring at the page. “It’s just a spiral, Bryn. World’s full of people who can’t write. Use symbols as signs.”

  “You trying to convince me or you?” But he’s right.

  Still. She’s seen that spiral before. Marken used to carve it in tables when he was annoyed. Trace it in dirt when he was bored. She gods damned hated it. Dax’s voice, teasing, irritating: “Marken’s spiralling again.”

  Dax folds the paper. Passes it back. “Doesn’t mean anything, Bryns,” he repeats softly. “Not even sure it’s the same. It’s a spiral.”

  He’s right. She knows he’s right. She takes the paper. Sets it on the ground by her boot. “One way to know for sure.”

  She doesn’t waste a lot of storage space on potions and bandages. Nothing that can crack or clank when she moves. But she does have three potions strapped in her belt. One for healing. One for smoke. And one for right now. She pulls the cork with her teeth. Props the man’s mouth open. Pours it down.

  The reaction is immediate. He jerks awake. Not pleasantly. Bryn knows. Marken dumped the same potion down her throat after she drank herself into a stupor one night. That’s how she knows to jump out of the way before he pukes all over her boots.

  “Huh,” says Dax from behind her. “So it wasn’t just the alcohol.”

  “Shut up,” she hisses, and returns her attention to the man. Before he can recover, her dagger is at his throat. “Start talking.”

  He pales. Whether from the potion, the dagger, or Bryn herself, a blood soaked and avenging beast hovering inches from his face, she doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. She presses the dagger more sharply into his flesh. “I said talk.” She knows what she’s doing. Lets the wild bleed into her eyes. Some of the rage and grief she’s been suppressing into her face. Her hands. She becomes a weapon. Nothing more.

  The man shrinks as far into the wall as he can. Eyes wide. Breath ragged. Throat working against her dagger. Dax hovers nearby, ready. Even if the man could get the drop on Bryn, Dax would drop him before he moved. “I don’t know anything!” he gasps. “Someone paid us to watch you two. It’s all I know.”

  “Watch us?” Dax’s voice cracks like a whip in the alley. “You tried to kill us!”

  The man gapes at him over her shoulder. “We tried to kill you? You attacked first!”

  Bryn considers that. Yeah. She guesses they did. “Stalking people’s dangerous business,” she says. “Who paid you?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Bullshit. Who were you reporting to?”

  “They said they’d find us.” He can’t seem to take his eyes off her dagger. She’s starting to get the sense her reputation preceded her.

  The thought pleases her immensely. She presses the dagger more sharply. Draws a bead of blood. Holds up the square of parchment. “And this?”

  He starts to shake his head. Catches his throat on the blade. Freezes. “No idea. We were told to carry it. Show it when someone approached us.”

  “And Marken?” she asks quietly. The name falls from her lips like ash.

  “Dead,” he replies. There isn’t a drop of blood left in his face. He definitely knows her reputation. And her connection to Marken. “Killed last night.”

  “I know that.” Her own voice is alien to her ears. Distant. Harsh. “I want to know why. And what this message says. And what this mark at the bottom means.” She leans in, her lips almost brushing his ear. “You can’t give me that, you’re no use to me.”

  Behind her, Dax shifts uncomfortably. “Bryn…”

  She ignores him. Pulls back just enough to meet the man’s eyes. The sweat dripping from his brow. His stench. Takes it all in.

  He lunges. Desperation born of panic. Drives into her wrist, sending the hand with the dagger flying to the side. Her grip spasms around it but she holds on. By the time he moves again she’s already flying. Tackling. Gets him down on the ground, her face twisted in a snarl, dagger raised.

  “Bryn!” Dax leaps toward her. “Stop!”

  But she doesn’t stop. Nothing but rage and motion.

  And no one left with the speed and strength to intervene.

  ******

  The job went right until it didn’t.

  They were working with a team. That always made Bryn clench her jaw. She didn’t like other people in her space. Worked best when it was Marken and Dax. She tracked people the way prey tracks predators – or predators track prey. Marken and Dax were familiar scents, a comfortable brush along the sides of her awareness. The others twitched wrong. Just this side of irritating.

  And then there was the team itself. Mostly veterans. Reasonably competent. But one young boy. Someone’s nephew. Too clean boots and shaking hands. She pegged him as trouble immediately. Bore through Marken with her eyes. He saw it. Jerked two fingers in her direction. Yes. Watch him. But no recall. No objection. No effort to pull the kid before he got himself or someone else killed.

  She saw the trap, of course. But the kid had gotten too far out in front of her. She was supposed to scout. Marken kept her out front for a reason. Sharp senses. If there was a trap, she’d find it.

  She spotted this one too. Right as his foot came down. Threw caution to the wind and shouted a warning. Two seconds later the too-clean boots were drenched with blood and a dozen guards descended on the room.

  The next ten minutes were all blood and arrows and daggers. No more time for thought. Just Bryn where she functioned best. Move. Thrust. Duck. Spin. Blood in her hair. Blade brushing skin. Dax on the edge of her senses.

  But when the dust cleared, guards remained. Hovering on the periphery. Debating if they wanted to attack.

  Bryn didn’t debate. Bloodlust surged. She. Wasn’t. Done. Her teeth bared. Dagger flashed. Five more guards just around the bend. On their way. She lunged.

  Didn’t even see Marken coming. A hand in her collar. Jerking her back so hard her feet fell out from under her. Their eyes met. His face above hers—calm, impassive. But his grip on her neck was iron. One quick moment where she could have yielded. Withdrawn.

  Instead she snarled. Jammed her elbow into his gut – less to hurt than to escape. Loosened his hold enough to lunge.

  He caught her wrist. Hard. Fast. Threw her against the wall like she weighed nothing. Arm twisted against her back, his weight against her.

  She spit fire at him. Curses. Some of her own blood too. Rebellion surged. Trapped. Held. The rage boiled over, and if he’d let her go she’d have gone for his throat. Probably would have regretted it later.

  Probably.

  His voice came against her ear, hard and soft enough she had to take a breath and pause to hear him. “Think hard about your next move, princess. You take a step now, and I’ll put you down where you stand.”

  He waited another second. Until some of the fight bled out of her. Then he stepped back.

  She didn’t take the step.

  But she spun. Hands fisted at her side. Arms trembling with the force of restraint. Her eyes screaming invectives at his face. Everything in her itching to charge. She channeled the force she couldn’t direct at the soldiers in his direction instead.

  Marken folded his arms. Took it all in. Read her. “Hate me all you want,” he said. “I can live with that. Beats digging your grave.”

  ******

  No grave for the man beneath her. Just the cold stones of the alley. She stares down at him. Glassy eyed. Not even mad anymore. Like she’sd taken some small piece of vengeance for losing Marken.

  And it gives her nothing.

  No hope.

  Dax approaches her hesitantly. “You okay?”

  Okay? No.

  She will never be fucking okay again. What does he think? “Never better,” she says coldly. Wipes the blood from her blade. Climbs off the body. Rolls it into the shadows. Probably won’t matter. They’d left the other bodies in the open. Someone would know. Marken would have something to say about that. Good thing he isn’t here.

  She laughs. A harsh, dying sound. Dax’s eyes fly open in concern. “Let’s go.” She pockets the parchment. The coins. Leaves the dagger.

  The spiral burns in her pocket, coiled and silent.

  She doesn’t know what it means.

  But someone is going to tell her.

  ******

  You ever look at something stupid—like a scratch on a table or a doodle in the dirt—and suddenly feel like the world’s coming apart in your chest?

  Yeah. That.

  I don’t know what the spiral means yet. But it means something. Dax says it’s nothing, but Dax lies when he’s scared. I know. I’ve done it too.

  This chapter gets messy. I lose it a little. I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry. Not really. I miss him. And grief—it’s not tidy. It doesn’t wait for permission. It comes teeth-first and takes what it wants.

  So no, I’m not okay. Stop asking.

  But I’m still moving. That has to count for something.

  —Bryn

  Next time: The spiral leads deeper. Neither walk away clean.

  If you liked this scene, you’ll love what’s brewing behind the curtain.

  ?? Bonus stories, early chapters, feral creatures, and chaos — all waiting for you on my

  Come meet Spite. He bites.

  Keep your blades close.

  -QH