He’d really left her.
The bowl was pulled away from her and dropped into a nearby bin for later washing. The sound of fine fabric sliding against the bench across from her encouraged Sandis to open her eyes. Kazen sat facing her, his bony hands folded underneath his pointed chin. The back of one of them was burned, and a distant thought wondered if she’d done that in the alley where she’d first half summoned Ireth. She hoped so. Galt stood in the corner, meaty forearms folded across his chest, his face twisted and sour.
“What a menace you’ve been, Sandis.” Kazen looked her over. “You’ve cost me a great deal of resources.”
Sandis wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.
“We’ll sort out the best way you and the others can repay me later.”
The words the others struck her like an open hand.
It took her a moment to gather her courage and croak, “How much?” She hadn’t heard her own voice in days. It alarmed her how weak and hoarse it sounded. How hard it was to hold up her head.
“Do speak up, Sandis.”
She straightened the best she could, though her spine was little more than an overcooked noodle. “How much did you pay him?”
Kazen’s left eyebrow rose. “You mean your dear partner in crime? He took a measly thousand for you.”
One thousand. In another time and place, that would have seemed like a lot of money to her. Barely a dent in Kazen’s wallet. One thousand. Was she worth so little?
Her heart shriveled into the semblance of a raisin.
He’d held her hand. He’d called her wonderful.
She wiped away a tear.
“I don’t appreciate the weepiness.”
She knew Kazen hated tears. She used to be so good at holding them back. Yet even her eyes betrayed her, refusing her silent pleas to stay dry. Do it for them. Alys, Rist, Dar, Kaili. Don’t give him more reasons to hurt them.
Take all the punishment yourself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Penitent. Obedient. Quiet. That was how one thrived in Kazen’s clutches. So little time had passed, yet she’d nearly forgotten all the rules. His and hers.
An array of horrors awaited her, punishments her imagination was too small to conjure. Kazen would surprise her. He liked surprising her when she disappointed him.
Penitent. Obedient. Quiet. He wouldn’t trust her for a long time, if ever. She would have to survive as best she could.
Why did he let me search the mortgage broker if he was already planning to take me back to them?
Talbur Gwenwig’s name wrote itself on the back of her eyelids, then faded away.
“You may be,” Kazen said, and it took Sandis a moment to realize he meant she may be sorry. “And you will be. Very sorry, my dear. It takes a lot of effort to hire decent, trustworthy men. They’re expensive. You’ve riled the police as well, and now we’ll have to kill all the scarlets that sneak too close to our little lair. That’s a lot of deaths you’ve caused, pet.”
Underneath the table, Sandis’s hands balled into fists. She tucked them between her thighs to hide them from Galt.
Why did he let me love him?
She blinked rapidly, drying new tears. Stared at the table, hoping Kazen wouldn’t notice, though she knew it was a false hope, just like all the others.
“They weren’t all yours.” The men, she meant.
“Quite the tongue we’ve developed, hm?” Kazen lowered his hands and sat back. “But of course not. I wouldn’t bankrupt myself going after one stubborn rat.”
She dared to look at his narrowed eyes. They were too intense, so she settled for the wrinkles below them. “But the mobsmen . . .”
Kazen smiled. She hated it when he smiled. “You dear, pathetic thing. The mobsmen are not on my payroll. They never have been. No, they’re encouraged to prevent me from getting angry. We both know what happens when I get angry.”
She dropped her gaze. Waited for him to say, You’ve made me angry. That was the next line in this mock interview. A segue into her punishment. Her stomach clenched around its meager meal.
But Kazen didn’t say anything. She felt him staring at the clean, straight part Zelna had combed into her hair. He wanted her to sit, to stew, to fear. But Sandis’s mind had snagged on the mobster who’d died the night Kazen forced her to march back to his lair.
The memory of a half-charred boy in black surfaced. Of her stepping over his body as she walked back to Kazen’s lair. Anon had been about that age when he’d disappeared.
“You shouldn’t have brought children,” she whispered.
Kazen pressed his hands to the tabletop. The movement was silent, but the tension in the room tripled, causing Sandis to recoil. “If you insist on speaking,” he said, a tightness to his words, “then. Speak. Up.”
“You could spare the children,” she said, her voice garnering strength. “If the mobsmen are your puppets to use as you please, you could at least spare children.”
She waited for him to scold her for talking back. To signal for Galt to throw a fist against the side of her head. But he didn’t, and she hated that he didn’t. She hated his unpredictability. She feared it.
“What children?”
The edge to the question woke Sandis from her stupor. She realized her mistake. That memory—the too-young mob boy, dead at her feet—it wasn’t hers. It was Ireth’s.
She shook her head.
Kazen’s hand whipped out and grabbed her chin, pulling it toward him. His hard eyes met hers. “What children?”
She swallowed. “In the neighborhood—”
His eyes narrowed. Studied hers.
She knew the moment he saw her fear. Her mistake.
“You mean the little mob boy. The lackey who got too close.”
Sandis pulled free of his grip. “He held me down. He—”
“He’s dead. But you shouldn’t know that, dear Sandis.” He leaned closer to her, his breath stale and hot. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”
“Tell me!”
Sandis froze. Ice. Stone. Metal. Never before had Kazen raised his voice in her presence. Never.
She stared at him, not even daring to breathe. Tension broke off him like shards of glass. The lamps in the room sweltered like suns.
He stared at her, his jaw working, for too long. Slowly he sat, never taking his gaze from her.
“Galt,” he said, low and hard, “go fetch Alys.”
Sandis came to herself. “No! Please.”
Kazen didn’t need to explain. Sandis understood. He wasn’t going to summon a numen to harm her. No, what he had planned was so much worse. He was going to unleash Galt on the youngest of the vessels, right here in this room. Let her be beaten where Sandis could see. Did Kazen know Sandis had nurtured her like a sister? She’d been so careful.
And Kazen had shouted at her. He was angry. If he deemed this information worth more than Alys’s well-being, he might . . .
Sandis cringed.
Galt reached the door.
“I’ll tell you!” she cried. “Stop it, stop!”
Kazen lifted a hand, stalling Galt. “You’ve gotten loose with your tongue, Sandis, but you’ve also gotten soft. Now speak, or you’ll be cleaning solitary with your tongue.”
Tears surged into her eyes; she couldn’t stop them, even under the weight of Kazen’s threats. “I saw him, yes. Through Ireth. I saw him burned and lying in the alley.”
Kazen’s eyes widened. “You remember.”
She nodded.
“Galt.”
Galt reached for the door handle.
Sandis jumped from the bench, reaching across the table for him. “No, no! I remember . . . For half a year, I’ve remembered.” And words spilled from her mouth, painting the room. She recounted every single memory she had, desperately trying to fulfill Kazen’s curiosity. Desperately trying to satiate him. The only secrets she kept for herself were the messages from Ireth—the warmth, the warning, the glimpses of Kolosos. Throughout her recounting, she prayed silently in her head, Celestial, don’t let him hurt Alys. It’s not her fault.
Kazen stood when her rant was over, looking paler than she’d ever seen him. He did not summon Galt. Did not even look at him. He paced, back and forth once, then pressed his knuckles into his chin in thought.