All the Stars and Teeth(50)
I wrap the whispers around me and smear the fingers along the drops of Blarthe’s blood on my hand. It’s not enough blood to kill him, but it’s enough to bind his soul to the finger I toss into the flames.
Halfway to me, Blarthe stumbles and roars with pain. He twists and clutches his left hand. One of his fingers has fallen off, the price of my magic’s equivalent exchange. It lies on the dirty floor, a pile of scattered cards around it. The blood that spills from the severed limb eases the tension of my magic. Now that’s enough to kill him, should I have to.
“Call off your men!” I slip a tooth from my satchel and drop to a crouch to wave it over the hungry flames. They singe my fingers, eager for something to devour. “Otherwise I’ll destroy that pretty grin of yours.”
I imagine the strange sensation he’s feeling—a tingling, burning numbness in his mouth. With his blood puddling onto the floor, I can do anything I want to him. If I could just get to it.
What he doesn’t know is that I need more blood to kill him, and I won’t let on. I hold the control in this fight, and I grin as fear flashes in Blarthe’s glare.
“Call off your men,” I repeat, enunciating each word.
This time he listens. The clashing steel silences after another sharp smack.
There are too many bodies for Vice to be silent—someone chokes in the corner, spitting up thick wads of crimson blood. One man has just managed to corner Bastian against a broken table, and leans into him with a blade. He looks the most annoyed with the sudden stall.
Bastian pushes the man away with a growl.
“I am Amora Montara, Princess of Visidia and future High Animancer.” I ignore a loud hiss from one of the men. “You’ve harmed me and my men. By law, I can kill every one of you. If you think I’m incapable, I dare you. Try me.” I form a fist around the tooth and squeeze it tight. Blarthe winces.
I keep my expression neutral as I stare at the men, one by one, memorizing their faces. The mood in the room shifts as they watch the blood dripping from Blarthe’s hand and into thick puddles on the floor. To them, I’m the gatekeeper of their damnation. And though I don’t want to hurt these men—most of whom I’m certain have no choice but to work with Blarthe—I need them to believe that.
Neither Bastian nor Ferrick has moved into a safer position. Like the rest of the men, they’re struck by surprise. Bastian at least manages to look properly impressed.
“We’re looking for a mermaid,” I tell the crowd. “And we’re not leaving here until we find one.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The only mermaid in town is a young woman named Vataea, and when pressed, the men admit Blarthe has imprisoned her. Vice doubles as Blarthe’s home, and he’s hidden Vataea in one of the back rooms, only to be brought out for “special” occasions.
I grit my teeth firmly, not wanting to imagine what those occasions might be.
I send Ferrick back to get her. There’s no way I’m abandoning my position by the hearth, and Bastian is better help with a sword should the men lash out.
“He’s taking too long.” Bastian moves to stand beside me, dipping his blade into the puddle of Blarthe’s blood that covers the scattered playing cards. He then holds his sword out for me, making the blood readily available.
Blarthe’s face is flushed an angry red, but he plants his feet into the ground and keeps still. Sweat isn’t just a sheen on his face; it drips off him in beads and sours the shop’s already dank air. One wrong move and he knows I’ll toss this tooth into the fire. I’ll do it over and over again, until he can’t even think about standing back up.
Ferrick really is taking a while. I sent him back almost fifteen minutes ago.
The shop is eerily silent, so much so I consider sending Bastian to check on him until the air shifts. The men in the shop turn their heads toward the back hall as footsteps approach. I follow their eyes, and while I see Ferrick, it’s like I can’t even look at him. The woman standing beside him demands every ounce of my attention.
She’s young in appearance, physically near my age, though something in her golden eyes hints she’s much older. Her velvety skin is lightly tanned and brushed with a golden sheen, unblemished by even the tiniest freckle. Her black hair glides to her hips like perfect silk, and while she’s thin and delicate-looking, there’s a fierceness in her tensed jaw as she approaches. She juts her chin high in defiance, and jerks her body away from Ferrick as he tries to lead her.
This poor girl is dressed in dirty rags that hardly conceal her body. They leave clear the soft skin of her stomach and end just below her hips. I stare at the entirety of her smooth thighs. Like Shanty promised, they’re marked with thick flesh-colored scars that run all the way from her inner thighs down to her bare feet.
The mermaid is breathtaking. If Bastian wasn’t looking before, he certainly is now. Even Ferrick’s cheeks are flushed pink as he walks beside her, forehead pinched like he’s trying not to stare.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice is jarringly powerful, though there’s enough honey in her words to tell me not all the myths are false. Six words, yet she wields them like a weapon; it’s said a mermaid can sing one sweet song to lure sailors into the sea, and another to summon the ocean and all its creatures. This girl might not look it, but she’s dangerous. I feel it in my bones.