Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(8)
Something rustled behind a trash bin. I froze.
A large, fat black rat sauntered out from behind the bin. It paused in the middle of the alley, staring at me with its bright black eyes before scurrying away and disappearing into a pile of trash on the opposite side.
I let out a tense breath and crept forward again. I stopped in the open space in the center of the plaza and slowly turned around in a circle, studying the piles of debris.
The sun had finally set, and the murky gray twilight was quickly being swallowed by the oncoming night. A few lights burned in the surrounding buildings, but they did little to drive back the encroaching darkness. If the girl was hiding here, I couldn’t see her, so I drew in breath after breath, tasting all the scents in the air again. It took me a few seconds to push past the garbage, but I finally got a whiff of hot, caustic magic.
For a moment, I thought it was the girl’s magic, and my heart lifted with fresh hope. Then the scent washed over me again. This magic had much more of an electric sizzle than the girl’s fire power—and it was far too strong to belong to just one person.
As soon as the realization filled my mind, the shadows around me started moving, shifting, and rising, as people slithered out of the piles of trash and climbed to their feet.
One second, I was alone. The next, I was surrounded by ten magiers. Paloma had been right.
It was a trap.
Chapter Three
I tightened my grip on my sword, held my position, and waited for my enemies to advance.
The magiers crept a little closer, then spread out, forming a loose semicircle around me. They were a mix of men and women, old and young, and all shapes and sizes. No crests or symbols adorned their black cloaks and tunics, so I couldn’t immediately tell who had sent them. Some of the magiers were clutching swords, but they all reeked of magic, their power burning like colorful torches in their eyes.
One of the magiers stepped forward. His dark brown hair was slicked back from his tan forehead, and a trim goatee clung to his chin, while his eyes were a light, bright topaz. He was my height, although his muscles bulged and strained against his tunic with every breath, making him seem as puffed up as a child’s balloon full of hot air. I wondered if he would let out an audible pop! if I stuck him with my sword. I rubbed my thumb over the hilt of my weapon. I wanted to find out.
Since the man didn’t immediately attack, I focused on the girl standing next to him, the one I’d been chasing. Now that I was closer, I could see that she didn’t look like any of my cousins, and her eyes were dark brown, instead of gray-blue like mine. Even though I’d known that she wasn’t a Blair the second the magiers had sprung their trap, disappointment still flooded my stomach. The cold, sick sensation quickly drowned all my warm, sweet honey hope, and the scent of my own ashy heartbreak punched me in the nose.
I forced myself to ignore the feeling and study the rest of the magiers. None of them had blond hair and purplish eyes like Maeven and so many of her relatives did, but the magiers could still be members of the Bastard Brigade. No one wanted me dead as badly as they did.
“Well, well, well,” the man drawled, breaking the silence. “I was hoping to capture a few guards, maybe even a royal advisor. I didn’t expect to hook Queen Everleigh herself. It truly is an honor, Your Majesty.”
He gave me a low, formal bow, and several of the other magiers snickered at his blatant mockery.
The girl huffed. “Oh, quit preening, Ricardo. I was the one who lured her here. All you had to do was wait for me to show up—”
Ricardo stepped forward and backhanded the girl, cutting off her complaint. The solid, heavy thwack of his hand cracking against her face boomed like thunder through the plaza. I grimaced at the sound.
Ricardo must have had a bit of mutt strength, because the girl plummeted to the ground like a brick dropped from a window. For a moment, she lay still and stunned, but then she slowly pushed herself back up to sitting. She blinked a few times, shaking off the hard blow, then gingerly touched her hand to her cheek, now a screaming scarlet underneath the dirt on her skin.
Ricardo loomed over her and flexed his fingers, as though he wanted to hit her again. “Don’t ever take that tone with me, Lena, especially in front of our guest.”
Guest? What was he talking about?
The other magiers shifted on their feet, but none of them spoke, and none of them came to the girl’s defense.
Lena bristled and dropped her hand from her cheek. A few red-hot sparks flashed on her fingertips, as though she were thinking about blasting Ricardo with her fire power, but he crossed his arms over his muscled chest and stared her down. Lena wilted under his glare, and the sparks vanished.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I just wanted some credit for doing my part.”
“And you’ll get it,” Ricardo said. “And gold and more—after we deliver her.”
Deliver me? More confusion filled me, although it was quickly replaced by growing dread. The magiers were going to kill me . . . weren’t they?
Lena frowned, as if she shared my confusion. “But I thought we were going to torture whomever we captured for information about the Regalia, then leave their body in one of the plazas as a message. That’s what he told us—”
Ricardo smashed his boot into Lena’s ribs, making her yelp with pain and topple over onto her side. He towered over the girl, anger pinching his face. “You take your orders from me,” he snarled. “And I don’t answer to him. None of us do. Don’t make me remind you of that again.”