Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(56)

I need to find the hostages and keep them safe until Rhone gets word to Jovan about what I’m doing, what my brittle plan is. Filthy men and women turn to each other, confusion on their face, wondering why Frost has arrived. That’s how I find the people I’m looking for. They stand nearest to the castle and continue to shout and encourage those around them to do the same. Five bloodied people, merchants by the look of them, cower on the ground at their feet, hands tied behind their backs.

I cross my arms, simply observing the ringleaders for several minutes before approaching. The crowd grows still as I do. People jab those still talking to shut them up. There’s sound, but it seems eerily quiet after the deafening noise a moment ago. I shake back my long hair, tightening my arms under my breasts. I know it does wonders for me in the harness—a series of leather straps which hardly deserves the description of clothing. Sin used to do the same with his chest muscles to make the audience crazy. Bizarrely, the thought makes me want to burst into laughter. Keep it together, Olina.

“What’s this?” I ask the crowd closest to the ringleaders. My expression is cold. I stare at the surrounding people. The man to my right, the one throwing rocks over the wall, has to be one of Blaine’s men. I don’t address him directly. That would be admitting he has power. And I mean to have that power all to myself.

He talks anyway. Bait taken.

“What do y’think, stupid bitch,” he snarls to my right. Those nearest us scramble back as I slowly turn to look at the hulking man, who’s balding with ruddy cheeks.

After a short pause, I ask my question again. This time with my foot pressing on his throat.

“We’re rising up,” he chokes from the ground. “Sick of the poverty, sick of being hungry, sick of the—”

I push down, then ease the pressure a little as his lips gain a blue tinge. From the murmur around me, the rest of the gathering agrees. I can’t even blame them.

“Maybe you’d prefer living on the fire world,” I joke. The hunched people closest to me laugh uproariously, high on tension. I watch the hostages out of the corner of my eyes. They’re whispering to each other. I hope they don’t try anything stupid.

Four other men move forward. I smile at them, honestly happy they’ve come to me instead of me having to find them. But surely there are more. The man beneath my foot stops moving and I remove my foot. He should still be alive.

“Hello, boys,” I say. These men missed out on their fair share of good looks. However, it’s the menace they emanate which makes them appear almost as ugly as Blaine.

“Who’re you?” the largest one asks in a brusque tone.

I laugh, slinging my arm around the neck of a stocky man standing at my side, ignoring the smell of animal blood. I hope he’s a butcher. The man I casually embrace chortles with me, as do those watching. I’m working the crowd and I thank Alzona and Shard for pushing me to experiment in the pits.

“She’s Frost, idiot,” an old man mutters. One of the four whips around to the elderly man and unleashes a vicious punch. The frail man crumples to the ground.

I don’t see it, but I sense it. The crowd turns against Blaine’s men. Not physically. Not yet. But they just stacked their favor with me. The thug is smart enough to perceive the change. He shifts uncomfortably as everyone looks at the old man on the cold ground, then fixes him with a blank look. The circle tightens around us.

“You lot listening to these guys?” I ask the crowd. There’s no way five people started this. But no one else is stepping up.

“That one there was knocking on doors, shouting for us to come,” a washerwoman says. She points and the crowd nearest to her close around as one of Blaine’s thugs takes a threatening step towards her. I move to stand between them also, grinning evilly up at the man. The mob holds its breath. His eyes dart furtively around, taking stock of the situation.

“Smart man.” I congratulate him when he stumbles away. I circle their group of four and the man unconscious on the ground, looking at the people around me. “These men have their own agenda.” My words ring out across the silence. I wait as the Bruma discuss that possibility. Rhone should have had ample time to deliver my message to the king. Come on Jovan. Even after last night, I don’t doubt that he’ll come to my aid.

“Go and free the hostages,” I order the butcherman next to me. He takes the dagger I hold out to him and plods over to the frightened Inner Ring members. The hostages shrink back as he saws through their restraints.

I turn to the four standing men. Maybe the fifth is dead, after all. “I think it’s time you went.”

I catalog each of the ringleader’s features as they slink back into the mass, realizing they’ve lost. The horde inhibits their movement by bunching together. I narrow my eyes at the action. I’d bet ten goldies they used to do that to me on purpose. I always wondered how Shard moved so easily through the courtyard.

A boy is pushed forward by his friends. He gulps as he looks up at me. “But we’re hungry,” he says. He’s no older than Oberon and Ochave, my twin brothers. My face softens as I bend down to his level.

“I know you are,” I say solemnly. Jovan, where are you? They turn to me expectantly, waiting for me to solve their problems. I open my mouth to address them, to stall for more time, but a groaning sound catches the words in my throat. I sag in relief as I see the portcullis rising over the five ragged rows of unwashed Bruma between me and the castle. I approach the gate.