Leon murmurs some kind of affirmative, but Jack’s head lolls over one of the guard’s shoulders as they leave, and I find myself glued to the sight of his empty, unseeing eyes.
* * *
LEON
A weak morning sunlight filters through the windows of the gambling den, hitting the polished wood of the bar and card tables. In a few hours, the space will no doubt be bustling with customers, frittering away their money and their morals. But for now, it’s just me and Corrin Wadestaff.
“I can get the message there in time, Your Highness, but I can’t guarantee results,” Corrin says. The crime lord is dressed in a jade suit today, silver cufflinks glinting. I lean back from the table, allowing him to feel the weight of my gaze.
“Just make sure you try your best, Wadestaff, or I might be forced to think of more creative ways to incentivize you.”
Corrin’s eyes harden even as he pulls his lips into a tight smile. “How fun for me.”
I’ve long since learned how to take the measure of a man, and by this point, I’m confident Wadestaff can be an effective tool. At the same time, though, he strikes me as a calculating man—one who never stops looking for a way to turn every situation to his advantage. I won’t leave him to his devices without a threat or two to keep him in check.
There are footsteps on the stairs, and I look up to see the unit descending. Ana’s among them. I thought the tension between us would vanish after we gave in to our desires, but it’s only twisted into something new. Something stronger. The moment I meet her eyes, I’m taken back to last night. I can taste her again, smell the sweet scent of her hair and feel her skin against mine.
From the delicious flush on her cheeks, her mind is back there too and I grin.
Corrin stands, making a small bow to Ana. Their little chat the other day was too cozy for my liking. I watch him closely, ready to run him through if he so much as winks at her, but luckily for him, Corrin turns back to me.
“I’ll have one of my people show you to your transport,” he says. “I wish you the best on the rest of your journey.”
His eyes flick once more to Ana, and the beast inside me rears its head and snarls. I didn’t want to name it for what it was before, but the wildness of this jealousy is impossible to ignore. Still, I wrestle the creature under control, reminding myself that Corrin’s probably glad to see the back of us.
“Good morning,” I murmur to Ana as we collect our horses from the stables.
“You were gone when I woke up,” she says quietly, her tone accusing. After the incident with Corrin’s man, we’d fallen back asleep in each other’s arms. I chuckle, pleased by the idea that she missed me upon waking.
“Don’t pout, princess,” I say as I put my hands to her waist to help her mount the pony. But first, I pull her in closer, letting her feel the heat of my body against hers, and drop my lips to her ear. “I’ll make it up to you.”
That blush appears again, decorating her delicate neck. I think I might start seeing how many ways I can provoke it, but for now, I just enjoy the sight. When I turn, Alastor’s eyes are on me, an eyebrow raised in quiet judgment.
I ignore him. The choice not to overthink things has stood me in good stead so far. Let the gods punish me if they want for taking pleasure and giving it in return, but I think our mortal dramas amuse them more than anything.
The docks, like much of Hallowbane, stink like the Gloamlands, so I’m glad when Corrin’s men are quick to locate our transport. It’s tucked up in a grimy inlet behind a small island of junked ship parts—a good spot for people who want to come and go without being seen. The riverboat looks ready to depart. With its long and deep design, there’s plenty of hold space for storing things away from wandering eyes.
A man steps off the deck onto the gangplank. His wiry hair tumbles down his shoulders and onto the lapels of a battered frock coat, crisscrossed with leather straps holding various instruments of navigation along with a knife in a thick leather sheath. He sees me looking at it.
“It’s for the rigging,” he says, tapping it with a grin and a wink. He holds his hand out to me, and I notice it’s missing a few fingers.
“Captain Ravesley,” he says.
I shake it, but don’t offer my own name. “Thank you for your help,” I say instead.
Ravesley nods. “A friend of Mr. Wadestaff’s is a friend of ours.”
“We have a few cabins down below,” he continues. “My people are happy to bunk in the hold and up top to make room.” He eyes our group, weighing us. We’re wearing our glamours, but Corrin might have dropped hints about us. “Stay out of their way, and they’ll stay out of yours,” he concludes.
“Sounds reasonable,” Alastor chips in. “We don’t want—Hey, you!”
I follow his gaze to the deck, where there stands a familiar man with a gold hoop glinting in his ear. At Alastor’s shout, the man’s eyes widen, and he backs away. But he can’t retreat far, as Alastor and I leap up the gangplank, closing in on either side of him.
“Looks like you’ve made yourself some friends since you left us in those tunnels,” I hiss at him.
The smuggler who abandoned us under Mount Kalas looks nervously around at his crewmates before clearing his throat.
“Ah, look now, you wouldn’t blame a man for doing what he had to do to get the cleavers off his back, would you?” He gives us a crooked smile and edges back another step.
