The Pirate's Lady

Chapter Sixteen



Van Gast flopped away, propped himself on the wall and gasped for breath. “Kyr’s mercy,” he said when he could. If Josie wanted to kill him, she wouldn’t need a pistol. His heart felt like it might actually explode. Be a great way to go though.

Her hand found his, and they slid to the floor, ignoring the reek of it. Van Gast didn’t care about that, not right at this moment. All he cared about was the way Josie felt against his side, her head on his shoulder, her breathing as ragged as his own. The way her other hand trailed over his chest, made patterns in the sweat. That she was here, with him, at last. Even being in the Yelen dungeons paled before that.

He breathed in the scent of her, all wide oceans and salt spray, far horizons and wild storms. She always reminded him of the sea—capricious, vicious, sharp sunlight over dark depths, ever-changing, never still. He felt the change in her now, like the turn of a tide, from crashing swells to a troubling eddy. He took her hand, let his thumb stroke the tender flesh on her wrist. Where any bond would be laid on. She shivered at that touch.

Her face was moonlight and midnight—the two sides of her, light and dark, love and hate, soft as clouds and hard as diamonds. No half measures for Josie, not ever. All or nothing. Van Gast dare not move for long moments, dare not breathe in case he broke the spell.

A soft smile, not her Joshing Josie grin but the smile that only he got to see, the one that always made him hope that maybe, just maybe, she loved him. The smile wavered before he could kiss it. “They’re going to bond us. I—I can’t, Van. Not again.” She’d never admit it, the fear, not outright. Not fighting, biting Josie. She got as close as she could, as he ever thought she would. “I’d rather die in this cell, or hang from their gibbet.”

One or the other, Rillen had said, just to him. Your choice. “You won’t be bonded. I’m not going to let them. I’d rather blow the f*ck out of all of us. Dead is better than that.”

She stirred against him, and the feel of her skin sliding along his made all sorts of distracting thoughts pop into his head. Her words blew all that away. “If you were dead, I’d let them bond me, so I could forget. I wouldn’t want to remember what I had.”

She buried her face in his shoulder. No tears, not his Josie. He’d seen her cry once, and he’d known even then he’d never see her tears again. It wasn’t tears she was hiding now but fear, a fear she never let anyone see. Joshing Josie, afraid of nothing and no one. Except this. She’d probably rather die than say it.

“You won’t have to. I promise you that, love.”

She looked at him for a long time, and at last a smile, the Josie grin that meant trouble for someone. Him, probably. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

Van Gast laughed and kissed the top of her head. “I know. Bullet in the face, right?”

She laughed with him, kissed him back as though her world would end if she didn’t. “Right. And don’t you forget it.”

The chill of night bit at Van Gast’s naked chest. “So, I take it the plan went a bit tits-up? Any chance you’re going to tell me what the plan is, or was?”

“Van, I thought you were a smart man. Haven’t you figured it out?”

“The Yelen gold? How does us being in this cell help?”

She winced at that. “That was where it all went wrong. You had the key, and I’d no reason to think they’d search Mr. Ibsen too much, a trader slung in here for taking liberties with Brimeld’s wife. Then me and Skrymir come down, spring you and here we are, right by the strong room and you with the key. But while Mr. Ibsen wasn’t a threat, Van Gast is. Not a cell in the world can hold him, that’s what they say, isn’t that right?” she teased.

“Well, yes. They do say that. And usually it’d be true, but, Josie, all I’ve got is my breeches, my bells and a set of bones. What’s left of the dagger, but nothing we can use, just tiny bits of glass. Not a lot even I can do with that. At least they left you your clothes.”

“Traitor on your ship. Someone knew about this, about me and Skrymir pretending to be ambassadors. About our names.”

“More than one, I think. Gilda knew nothing of this, though it was her that swapped the notes, I’m fairly sure, and her that gave me away in the square. The other is locked up nice and tight in my brig. Shame really, I think Holden took a bit of a fancy to Tallia. Pissed Ilsa off, I know that.”

Josie sat up and gave him an odd look. “You put Tallia in the brig? What for?”

“She makes my trouble bone itch, and she knew Holden’s name before he told her. Plus, she was most uncomplimentary about me.”

“Van, Tallia’s not the traitor—I told her Holden’s name. And, yes, she’s not your biggest admirer, but she wouldn’t turn me in.”

“So—”

“So whoever it is, they’re still out there somewhere, and they told Rillen who we all are.” She stood up and went to the tiny light-well that was all they had to illuminate the cell. Moonlight etched her naked body in hard relief—soft light and sharp shadows. “They want us bad, Van. How in Kyr’s name are we going to get out of this?”

Van Gast had a very bad feeling he knew the only way to get out of this—do whatever Rillen asked. Or at least agree to it, and then try to twist out of it. Yet that would be nigh on impossible once Rillen bonded him. Because he knew, without a shred of doubt, that was going to be his decision if it came to Rillen’s choice.

He watched Josie as she looked up at the tiny slice of moonlight, the way it played over her, making her a thing of shadows, as if she might be blown to mist if he tried to touch her. She’d taken the bond once before, for him, though he’d not known it then. Now it was his turn. He wouldn’t shirk, not from this. Not when Josie was at stake.

“There could be a way,” he said. Not that it had a hope of working, but anything to stop that look on her face, the pinch of fear around her eyes at the thought of the bond. “But it’s a pretty stupid plan. Might not even work. Probably won’t.”

That was better—the lopsided grin spread across her face, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Stupid but thrilling, I’m guessing?”

His own grin was just as wide, the familiar surge of joy and dread running his bones. “You expected anything else? You, er, might want to get some clothes on first though.”

“Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say. All right, Van. Looks like we’re going to blow something up.”

She moved in front of him, and this was the Josie he loved, who could go from heartbreak to laughing in a heartbeat, who showed the world her bright cutting words and her brighter sword and screw anyone who got in her way. Yet with him, her face was soft, her words softer, and they meant all the more for that. She ran a thumb over his lips, and he kissed it.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said. “Stop me thinking on it, on the bond, that’s your stupid plan.” She reached up on tiptoe and the kiss almost stole the last drop of his breath, almost pulled his heart through his mouth. Long and soft and full of want, aching sorrow and a searing need he’d never thought she’d show him.

“That’s why you love me, right?” he said when she pulled away, but she only smiled before she went to the grille and called to Skrymir to make sure he was still alive.

* * *

Holden stared at Ilsa, barely even saw Rillen pull his gun. The way her face had fallen when she’d seen Holden was here gave her away. He’d found the lady. Everything sounded muffled and odd as he stared.

A gun went off behind him—Tallia grappled with one of the guards and the bullet whipped past and shattered a statue. Still Holden could only stare. What had happened to Ilsa to make her do this?

Rillen raised his gun, aimed straight at his heart, and everything came at him in a rush—the noise of Tallia and the guards, her quick gasp of “Holden!”, the way Ilsa’s face changed as she looked at him, a pleading there, a need for him to understand. The gun, the black hole of the barrel pointing straight at him.

He moved as Rillen pulled the trigger, dove sideways and rolled. The bullet flashed past him and embedded itself in the chest of one of the guards. The man fell like a stone, blood washing across the tiles in a sick tide.

Tallia took the opportunity of the other guards’ sudden shock, wrested a gun from one and used the butt in the face of another. She grabbed Holden’s shoulder and pulled him to standing as Rillen strode toward them, sword out and murder on his face. He shook off Ilsa’s hand, her pleading voice, and came for Holden.

Tallia shoved a sword in Holden’s unresisting hand and leveled her stolen gun at Rillen. “One more step, and I’ll shoot you. Right in the face. You know I will.”

Rillen stopped and cocked his head. “I suppose you would. You always were a vicious bitch, Tallia. But you won’t get out of this palace alive, I promise you that.”

Tallia said nothing else, but jerked her head at Holden, indicating a close passageway.

“But Ilsa—”

“—got Van and Josie locked in those cells, ready to hang. Go on!”

Holden scrambled blindly for the passage, Tallia close behind, the gun always pointing at Rillen. Holden’s last glimpse was of Ilsa, her chestnut hair shining, her new dress looking drab now against the planes of her face as they crumpled. Then they were round a corner and Tallia pulled him to a window, deep-set to keep out the harsh sun. They clambered out into a sweet-scented garden surrounded on all sides by the palace, striped with lamplight from the windows.

Sound followed them. The reception on one side, the buzz of conversation, hiccups of laughter, clinking glasses. On the other side, where they’d just come from, a low murmur, gradually rising. Rillen’s voice spiked through it, ordering, hectoring. It wouldn’t be long before the guards swarmed the palace looking for them.

“Come on,” Tallia murmured.

“Where?”

“I know a few places where they won’t look. Follow me and keep quiet.”

They slid past aromatic bushes, keeping off the gravel path. Holden wished they could still their bells, but that would be tempting fate, tempting the gods and Forn in particular. Tallia led them away from the hubbub of guards behind, at an angle to the sounds of the reception. Holden caught a glimpse through a window of a fat man on a dais, red-faced and sweating. Behind him, a sight that made him jerk to a halt with a jangle of bells.

Remorian mages, three of them, hunched and glittering mountains. Holden fancied he could smell them from here—unwashed skin, greasy hair, and the stench of the crystals themselves, of curdled magic, of power used for the sake of power. Mages had ruled his life for many years. He’d gone through so much to end their reign of terror, and here they were, bonding people again. He gripped the sword hard enough that his fingers went numb.

Tallia stopped beside him, her mouth wide as she looked inside the palace. “Those are the mages?”

Holden couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded.

“I didn’t think—they look so—” She stopped with a shiver. Holden knew just what she meant though. “Come on, it’ll do us no good to get caught out here.”

Even as she said it, doors opened at the other end of the garden and a phalanx of guards came out, pistols drawn. Tallia grabbed Holden by the elbow and dragged him through an arch to another part of the garden, full of fruit trees and ordered beds of herbs, down a ramp to a small doorway at the end, set under the palace. No guards stood by it, and when Tallia tried the handle, it wasn’t locked.

Tallia eased the door shut behind them and slid a bolt across. “Kitchen door, only gets locked last thing, after the cooks have gone to bed.”

The narrow corridor was brightly lit from brass lamps hung along the walls.

“How do you know all this, and where are we going?” And Ilsa, what was he going to do about Ilsa? She’d betrayed Van, and Josie. But she was his wife, and he had a duty.

“We’re going to see if we can get Van and Josie out. I used to work here. My father was a patrolman, I told you that. He got me a job in the palace. Working for Rillen. It didn’t work out.”

“Tallia—”

She turned away with a set look and led him on. Not about to be drawn, not yet. She pushed open a door, soft and quiet, and looked around before she waved him in after her into a cavern of a kitchen.

Cooks and maids and waiters ran to and fro in the steam, a chaotic mess of shouts and arguments and fragrant spices. No one seemed to notice two extras. Tallia pulled Holden into a quiet corner, squashed up together by a larder.

“We’ll be safe enough here for a while.”

Her eyes were very wide and dark as she looked up at him, her mouth quivering. Holden was tempted, so very tempted, to kiss that quiver away, to have her smile at him. He controlled himself with an effort, with the cold dash of Ilsa in his thoughts.

“And then what?” he asked. “Ilsa, how could she, why did she? Van Gast saved us from the bond, freed us. Without him we’d—”

“Without him, you’d never have seen Josie again. Revenge, that’s what this started out as. I think it grew from there though. I think Ilsa found out who she really is without the bond, and it’s not someone you’d like.”

“How do you know this? You’re wrong, you have to be.”

She couldn’t be right. Mistrust was what had brought them all here—he wasn’t about to make the same mistake Van Gast had. Ilsa wouldn’t, she couldn’t. How would she know this Rillen anyway? It was Tallia, it had to be, making up lies to confuse him, playing them all off against each other.

“How do I know? Because I have eyes, because my little magics run that way and I see the strands that bind, and pull apart. Because I know about you and Josie, and I know that sailors gossip worse than women, and even if you haven’t told Ilsa, one of them has, same as they told me and Gilda Van’s secret name. They were talking about it in the mess. Because Ilsa loves you, or thought she did, because the bond once told her to. You were all she had left, and she wanted to make Josie hurt like Josie hurt her when she tumbled you, only now she doesn’t want you anymore, but she’s still bent on hurting Josie.”

Holden couldn’t look at her, at the pity in her dark eyes, the sad twist of her mouth. He’d wanted Ilsa to be happy, but she hadn’t been. He’d wanted to make things good between them, but couldn’t, and he hadn’t known why. She’d been loving at times, cold at others. And that coldness had started when? He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure she knew about him and Josie—he’d certainly never said, other than to say he’d known her years before. He’d wanted Ilsa to be happy because that was his duty, because he was responsible for her, but he didn’t know what it would take to make her happy, hadn’t known what she wanted. Because he’d been afraid to ask, afraid of what the answer would be.

It couldn’t be true, she couldn’t have done this, condemned Van Gast and Josie for this, for jealousy. She was his wife, he had to trust to her, not some random girl he’d found for crew, a girl who made Van itch. Maybe—

Of course. This Rillen was playing Ilsa. She’d never been away from home before, never tasted Estovan and its devious delights, never dealt with racks or merchanters who’d con you or deal you out of a fortune as soon as look at you. Ilsa believed what people told her, because she’d no reason not to—a bonded man would rarely lie, couldn’t lie unless his master ordered it. She’d known nothing but bonded men and women until the bonds had gone. Maybe this was her madness, as the men had suffered their rages. Or Rillen had fooled her—he must have, must have found out whose ship she was on, played her and drawn it out of her. She was his victim, not the instigator.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “You must be.” She must be because his mistake, his guilt, couldn’t be the cause of Van and Josie being in those cells. “You’re wrong.”

She took his hand and started to say something, but he shook her off.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, what lies you’re spinning, but you’re wrong. And you’re going to help me get Van and Josie out of those cells, and Ilsa out from Rillen’s clutches. Right now.”

* * *

Van Gast tested the door while Josie called through the grille.

“Skrymir?”

The answering voice was faint but determined. “Aye, Josie. I’m still here. It’s not as bad as it looks. The mail took the worst of it. Haban’s patched me, enough for now. Enough to get out of this stink pit.”

“How’s Haban?” Van Gast called. “I never thanked him for not handing me over about that diamond.”

“I’m alive at least.” Haban’s voice had lost its boom and ghosted down the corridor. “You can thank me by getting me out of here. Any idea how we’ll manage that?”

“Good question.” Van Gast straightened up. Nothing short of the right key or an explosion would get that lock open. He hadn’t really thought it would, but always best to check the simple things.

“They took everything off you?” Josie called.

“Of course,” Skrymir replied. “How in Oku’s name did they find out?”

“A traitor in the ship,” Van Gast said. “Gilda, I’m thinking.”

“Gilda? That’s my niece,” Haban said. “Don’t think too badly of her. She’s been trying to get me out of here.”

Van Gast’s answer was drowned out by the rasping sound of the far door—the door to freedom. It was tantalizingly close yet as unobtainable as the moon. Its dark and tempting prospect was not enhanced by Rillen’s appearance, or who he brought with him.

Four blank-eyed bond-slaves carried a litter padded with soft cushions. The reek of the mage preceded him, a stink that made dark memories swirl in Van Gast’s head and made Josie’s face tighten in hatred and fear. Only for a moment though.

The slaves placed the litter on the floor and the mage sat, glittering and marvelous, beautiful and malevolent. Van Gast swallowed hard. He had no way now to avoid Rillen’s choice, no time, no crafty plan. Nothing but the choice itself. His hand found Josie’s and squeezed it. For once in his life he was going to keep a promise, despite the fear that made his face clammy and his skin feel like it belonged to someone else, someone a lot smaller than him.

The next figure shocked him enough he almost forgot the mage.

“Ilsa?”

Josie cocked an eyebrow his way. “Someone I should feel jealous of?”

He shrugged nonchalantly and flashed her a grin, glad to have her here, glad to have something to take his mind and eye away from the bond he saw in Rillen’s hand. “Depends. She’s Holden’s wife. A lot of things suddenly make sense.”

A bunch of guards followed them down the corridor, all with pistols drawn. Two checked on Skrymir’s cell and stood guard there. Rillen stopped a yard from Van’s cell and the guards came on. In the face of those pistols, Van Gast decided that biding his time might work well. He could probably down two, no problem, but with the guards at Skrymir’s cell, and the others ready to shoot anyone, picking his time was essential, because there was stupid and there was suicidal, and there was probably no way out of this except to do it.

“Bring Van Gast out,” Rillen snapped. “You two, my lady here wishes to speak with Josie. You shall make sure she survives the encounter. And if she doesn’t, Josie, Van Gast’s last moments will be spent on the floor of this corridor.”

Rough hands yanked Van Gast’s fingers from Josie’s and pulled him from the cell. Ilsa stepped past him, making sure she didn’t catch his eye. If Ilsa was here, if she was helping Rillen, had told him about Van Gast and Josie and Skrymir, what about Holden? Was he involved too? Had the pair of them turned Van Gast over for the money? No, no it couldn’t be. Holden might bear him no especial fondness, but he wouldn’t turn Josie over, or Skrymir. Would he?

“So, Van Gast, who is it going to be? You or her?”

Rillen’s soft words just for him made the thoughts fly from his head. It didn’t matter now who it had been, only how they were going to get out of this. Or, if that wasn’t possible, get Josie out, alive, unbonded, and free like she was supposed to be.

The bond lay, silver and deadly, in its pouch. The end of it snuffled at him, looking always for flesh to bond, souls to steal, minds to blank. He stared around, looking, hoping for some little thing, anything, to help, but there was nothing. Only him, and a pair of eyes glittering with avarice in crystal caves.

“Me,” he said. “You can bond me, if you let her and Skrymir go. And Haban.”

Rillen’s laugh was jagged, as though he was barely controlling himself. “You don’t want much, do you? You’ll do what I ask, play your part. Then, perhaps, I’ll let her go and hang you. It’s that or I hang you both now. And I mean right now.”

One of the guards brought out a rope and swung it over a rafter. It dangled there menacingly, but not half as threatening as Rillen’s eyes. All Van Gast had left was the stupid, and not at all thrilling. Stupid, but right. Possibly even sensible. Certainly desperate.

Van Gast held out his wrists. “Do it.”

“I knew you’d see sense.”

Rillen opened the pouch further and the bond squirmed out onto Van Gast’s skin, sinking in around the previous scar, settling into his bones, his mind. He dropped to his knees as the pain started, the seemingly endless stretching of his muscles, warping him like a bow as he thrashed against it. He thought he screamed, but couldn’t be sure, couldn’t be sure either that he heard an answering scream, of Josie shouting his name.

His vision dimmed, became gray and pearled like fog. The hold of it sank into his mind, tried to roll up his memories, impose its own order on him. He fought that the hardest, fought not to forget. Josie’s wicked grin, always meaning trouble for someone, the way she laughed up at him. The feel of her against him, all soft curves and hard muscles, light and dark, furious love and passionate hate. He forgot everything else, who he was, who he had been, things he’d done, but he didn’t forget her. He could never forget her, no matter if he was bonded a thousand times. The sheer, glorious blast of her in his life couldn’t fade. He wouldn’t let it, would kill any man who tried to take it.

The pain drained away, never quite leaving, lurking in the scar, ready to twist him to its will. He lay shuddering on the flagstones of the corridor, staring up at a rope. He had to fight it, had to, or lose himself. A fragment of memory wafted through his head, of the one time he’d seen Josie cry. Fight it, Andor, you hear me? You f*cking well fight it. She’d fought it, almost to the bitterest of ends. She always did and so he would too.

“Get up,” the mage said behind him.

The words echoed through the bond, sent silver shivers of pain along his arm, dragged a groan from clenched lips, but he stayed where he was. When he looked at his wrist, black lines snaked away from the bond. Bonded unwilling—the more he fought, the sooner it would kill him. If he gave in, stopped fighting and let the bond make mist of his thoughts, the black poison would fade, along with him and his mind. Somewhere, deep inside, he remembered something of himself. Rules were for idiots.

“Get up!”

His muscles twitched to obey, but he forced them still. “Screw you,” he managed to rasp out, and was rewarded with another twist of agony.

The mage’s voice, soft, insidious, seducing Van Gast to obey. “Bring him.”

Rillen yanked Van Gast up by the hair and he didn’t have the strength to resist.

Josie shouted something, but Van Gast couldn’t make out the words. Only the desperation, the fear. He was doing this for her. Because she’d once done this for him, to save him, and he’d thought she was betraying him. His words came out in a mumble. “`S all right, Josie love. Promise.”

The mage’s face loomed in front of him, the stench gone now that Van Gast was part of it, part of him.

“I can make this worse,” the mage said. “If you like. With a twist and a pull, I can tighten that bond so you can’t even move without my say so, impossible to fight against. I understand it’s very painful though, and it tends to kill the slave quicker. Though that might seem a mercy. Your choice. Now, I command you. Do as Rillen says, to the letter.”

Van Gast struggled to think beyond the throb at his wrist, the fog invading his brain. Remember who you are, what you do. Van Gast is the racketeer, the one they all want to beat. The man they can’t catch, who no cell can hold, who can steal like a god. He should bide his time, pretend, lie, live. Wait, and something would come along. Some plan from Josie’s twisty mind, some foolish bravado from Skrymir in the name of his oath, something stupid but utterly thrilling to do to get them all free. He’d think of something—he always did. Besides, he had to survive the now, survive until Josie was free, until they all were.

Add to that I want to live long enough to kill Rillen.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “I’ll do what he says.”

“Good. Very good, very sensible. All right, Rillen. The sooner, the better I think, don’t you?”

* * *

Perfect, this is all working out so very perfectly. Rillen could hardly contain himself.

Ilsa came out of the cell looking like a cat that had swallowed a king. Her smile was almost certainly a mirror to his own. He couldn’t resist the urge. When she came to stand next to him, he swept her up and kissed her, reveled in her. Perfect.

He set her back and watched her eyes, those little glimpses into her mind. They were very wide now, almost as wide as her smile. “Holden never kisses me like that,” she whispered.

Rillen nodded to the guards and they yanked Josie, biting and spitting, out of her cell. Another two got hold of Skrymir, set him on wobbly feet. Haban shuffled out after him. The cuffs, the ankle chains the guards added and half a dozen guns pointed at them kept them quiet enough.

He bent down to whisper in Ilsa’s ear. “Then Holden’s a fool. Stay with me, become my lady, and I will kiss you like that every hour of every day. All Estovan will be ours. And a lot of money too. Everything you wish for will be yours.” He straightened up and raised his voice. “Sergeant, get them going.”

The guards got them moving, though Josie spat a stream of vile words, tried elbows and knees to get back to Van Gast. In the end, only a pistol jabbed in her face and a threat to use it, right now, got her going.

“Van Gast, follow them.”

The bonding had perturbed Rillen, made squirming thoughts riddle his brain. Before, Van Gast had been a preening peacock, a larger-than-life force, full of energy that seemed to flow from him in waves. Now he shuffled like an old man, his hands shaking, his eyes hauntingly vacant as though he looked only inward, into a personal demon-infested space. It made Rillen want to look away, to deny he had anything to do with the transformation. He had his revenge, and it sickened him.

Enough. It would be worth it when all was done.

Instead of watching Van Gast, he watched Ilsa gloating over Josie’s hurt, at the all-too-apparent fear—and a neat set of scratches—on Josie’s face even as she fought and spat, the tremor as she called to Van Gast and got no answer.

“Was it all you hoped?” he asked.

“And more.” Ilsa’s smile was beatific and spiteful, as though she’d been blessed by gods and demons both. “You gave me all I wished for.”

“Oh, there’s more to come. Much more.”

He kissed her again, tongue sliding against tongue, heat rising everywhere, a promise of more to come, of heat, of the passion that her hate was just a symptom of. A promise of a mind that matched his own, clothed in a body that slid smooth and soft under his hand.

Perfect—today is my perfect day.

* * *

Van Gast staggered after Skrymir, his legs jerky and not-quite-his. Some semblance of thoughts had come back to him, but they were insubstantial, floating just out of his reach when he tried to grasp them.

They didn’t go far before the guards stopped at a stout door ranged with locks. Josie kept up her barrage of insults and elbows until the sergeant lost his patience and smacked her into a wall, holding her face to the stone with her arms pinned under her. It only served to piss her off more, and while the elbows stopped, the insults grew worse. Van Gast watched it all blankly, vaguely knowing that he had to do something, had to get her out of those chains somehow.

He stared dully at the door, and the rat-itch of his trouble bone flared even worse, wrenching a hoarse gasp from him. Not just trouble, this was worse than that the itch told him as it flared, a scorch, a burn, a hot flaming coal next to his heart. Not just for him, for all of them. It seared through the gray fog of the bond and brought him back to himself.

Rillen strolled along the corridor, a shark-grin splitting his face, with Ilsa behind him. She looked at Rillen and her mouth softened then, the way she’d once done with Holden or when she’d followed Van Gast around the ship. The burn of little-magics choked at his throat.

“Unlock the door,” Rillen said, and guards leaped to obey.

The locks rattled open, one by one, until the stout door stood free. Rillen pushed and it swung inward on silent hinges, to a wealth that boggled even Van Gast’s fuddled mind.

The guards shoved him, Josie, Skrymir and Haban inside.

“Oku’s oath,” Skrymir muttered and made an odd sign with a hand in front of his face, as though warding off an evil spirit.

Even Josie stopped her struggling and stood, mouth agape, at the sight that greeted them.

The stone-flagged chamber was ten times the size of the cells. Every corner was crammed with riches—piles of coins, golden statues, pearl-edged, filigreed jewelry to dazzle the eye, chests of rare and hideously expensive spice-wood that scented the whole room with the aroma of wealth. Atop one pile sat something Van Gast recognized through the haze of his memory—a diamond the size of his fist, his biggest ever booty from a single haul. A theft that had started this whole sorry mess.

Rillen flipped open one of the chests, and sapphires winked out at them, emeralds greener than cats’ eyes, rubies the color of blood. Rillen scooped up a handful of emeralds and let them dribble through his fingers.

Haban stood wide-eyed, fingers twitching and mouth moving silently as his little-magics calculated the worth of the room. His gaze slid to Van Gast. “Worth more than this whole city and everything in it.”

“Quite right.” Rillen’s shark-grin grew wider, his eyes flatter. “And you’re going to steal it.”

Josie’s sudden laugh split the tension from the air. “Steal it? What, and get shot by your guards? Why would you want us to steal it?”

“Because you’re going to escape. Oh yes, I’ll let you go. But while you’re escaping, there is one important thing I want you to do. A little job for me. In return, I might let you keep some of this.” Rillen dribbled more emeralds through his fingers and stared at Van Gast. “Very soon now, a man will come down here, having been told by his guards that you’ve escaped the cells and breached his strong room. A fat old fool, he is, thinking himself so clever. But while he can run a good trade, his mind is ever on the money, on the gold. That’s all he cares for. And you’re going to kill him for me.”

Josie narrowed her eyes and flicked an appraising glance around the room. She shook off the guards and Rillen made no protest, so she walked among the splendor. Picking up a trifle here, a precious stone there before she put them back. Finally she stood in front of Rillen, relaxed but ready, her confidence like a shield, and stared up at him. Van Gast had to smile—if the cuffs and shackles hadn’t been plain, you could have mistaken her for the one with the upper hand in this deal. Balls out, every time, that was his Josie. Her mouth hooked up into her lopsided grin, and Rillen wasn’t in line for delight. Robbed or killed, that was what she’d be thinking, and this had been her goal all along. This room, this wealth.

“You know, you could have just asked nicely.”

Rillen laughed, a spiteful sound like needles jabbing, and he grabbed her chin, held it tight when she tried to jerk away. He nodded at a guard to come and hold her as her hands came up. Van Gast made to move, an automatic step forward, hands groping for a gun that wasn’t there.

A single word, “Stop,” and he froze. All his muscles seemed made of ice. He tried, fought against it, but each try sent the black lines inching along his arm, brought a spasm of pain that lanced his head with steel. Josie shook her head, a miniscule movement, and he stopped trying, stopped fighting. For now.

Pain flowed out of him, draining his will and strength with it. He’d bear it though, as she once had, bear it long enough. I swear, if it means you’re safe. I promise on my conniving little soul. You did it for me, I’ll do it for you. To the end, Josienne, to the end.

When Josie was subdued to Rillen’s satisfaction, he leaned forward, his face pushed to hers. “Because I didn’t need to ask, and I don’t deal with racks, I use them. Here, have this.” He shoved a purse of clinking coins down the bodice of her dress and patted them home. The evil look Josie shot him didn’t bode well for him if she ever found him once out of her chains.

Rillen threw other pouches to Skrymir and Haban, and the guards made sure they stowed them in their clothes. Josie caught Van Gast’s eye, and he could see his own thought mirrored there—this looked worse and worse, a twist of the direst kind. Yet she tipped him one of her sly winks, and the hot coal in his chest subsided a little. Josie couldn’t be conned. She had the twistiest mind of anyone he’d ever met. Yet the bond that throbbed at his wrist, that even now tried to shroud his thoughts in fog…

Rillen came between him and Josie, blotted her out with his shark-face. “And one for you, Van Gast. Find somewhere for it.” Van Gast fumbled the pouch into a pocket in his breeches, unable to do anything but obey the voice the mage had told him to. He could maybe have fought it, but for what? Not now, he must bide his time.

Rillen took his pistol out and handed it to Van Gast, butt first. “I wouldn’t try shooting anyone but who I tell you to. The bond wouldn’t like that, and I understand the pain is unbearable. Sergeant, you know where to take the others. Van Gast, you’re coming with me.”

The others didn’t go quietly. Skrymir managed to knock out one guard and break the arm of another by his sheer weight and the hammer blows of his meaty fists. Blood from the hastily dressed wound on his shoulder mingled with theirs and dripped to the floor, but Skrymir didn’t seem to notice. Josie brought a screech from a third as her foot connected solidly with his balls. Only Haban, emaciated, subdued and gray where once he’d been expansive, laughing and dark as midnight, went willingly.

Rillen snatched a gun from a stricken guard and shoved it in Van Gast’s face. “You go, or I blow his head off. The guards will set you loose down by the river gate. I suggest you get going, quick as you can.”

Skrymir stopped, guard dangling from his hand, watching Van Gast with appraising eyes. He’d sworn his oath, to serve Josie, to protect her. An oath on his soul. Van Gast didn’t need to say anything, they just shared a look, and Skrymir put the guard down, almost gently. His solemn nod was enough. He would keep her safe if it killed him, on his oath, on his soul. It was enough.

Josie stilled and cast a despairing look at Van Gast. “Fight it, Van, you fight it with everything you’ve f*cking got.”

Words seemed to evade his tongue, flitting through his mind before he could grasp them, but he had to. He had to fight it, as she’d done. He had to get her safe, or as safe as she could be. Skrymir would do all he could to keep her from harm. Van Gast forced the words out in a whisper past the choke of his throat. She’d be safe, but not for him. “Run now, Josie love. You take his gold and run. Trouble bone says so.”

She shook her head, her hair flicking about her like feathered waves, but Rillen cocked the pistol, shoved the cool barrel right into his cheek.

“Run, love, and live.”

She opened her mouth—to protest, to scream, to shout bloody murder, he didn’t know, but Skrymir took her arm, whispered in her ear. She stayed quiet then, but her mouth twisted into a bitter line. She made no protest when the guards hustled them out of the strong room, but kept her eyes on Van Gast as long as she could. Then she was gone, and it was only Van Gast and Rillen, with Ilsa wide eyed, licking her lips as though what had happened was a tasty treat that she savored.

“Very good, Van Gast,” Rillen said, in the sort of tone some people used on dogs. “Now, I want you to shoot my father.”