Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(60)
“He won’t run,” Farley whispers, butting in between us. “At least not to Egan. He’ll lose his head for betraying the Mariners. If he’s going anywhere, it’s out of the city.”
“Then let him,” I whisper back. Another Red to babysit is the last thing I need. “He’s fulfilled his use to us, hasn’t he?”
“And if he runs right into a jail cell and an interrogation, what then?” Cal’s voice is soft, but full of menace. A cold reminder of what must be done to protect ourselves.
“He let three of his people die for me, to keep me safe.” I don’t even remember their faces. I can’t let myself. “I doubt torture will bother him much.”
“All minds can fall to Elara Merandus,” Cal finally says. “You and I know that better than anyone. If she gets him, we’ll be found. The Bay newbloods will be found.”
If.
Cal wants to kill a man based on such a terrible word. He takes my silence as agreement, and to my shame, I realize he’s not entirely wrong. At least he won’t make me do it, though my lightning can kill as quickly as any flame. Instead, his hands stray inside his shawl, to the knife I know he keeps tucked away. Within the folds of my sleeves, my hands start to shake. And I pray that Crance stays the course; that his steps never falter. That he doesn’t get a knife in the back for daring to help me.
The main floor of the Paltry is louder than the depths, an overload of sound and sight. I scale back my senses a little, shutting out what I must to keep my wits about me. The lights whine overhead, ragged with a pulse of uneven currents. Their wiring is faulty, flickering in places. It makes one of my eyes twitch. The cameras are more intense too, focused on the Security post at the center of the marketplace. It’s little more than a stall itself, six-sided, with five windows, a door, and a shingled roof. Except the box is full of officers instead of mismatched wares. Too many officers, I realize with a steadily growing horror.
“Faster,” I whisper. “We must go faster.”
My feet find a quicker pace, outstripping Cal and Farley, until I’m almost on Crance’s heels. Shade glances over his shoulder, brow furrowed. But his gaze slides past me, past all of us, and fixes on something in the crowd. No, someone.
“We’re being followed,” he mumbles, his grip tightening on
Crance’s arm. “Seaskulls.”
Instincts be damned, I tip my hood so I can get a glimpse of them.
They’re not hard to pick out. White ink on shaved heads, tattooing skulls of jagged bone on their scalps. No less than four Seaskulls pick their way through the crowd, following us as rats would a mouse. Two from the left, two from the right, flanking us. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would laugh at their matching tattoos. The crowd knows them by sight, and parts to let them pass, to let them hunt.
The other Reds clearly fear these criminals, but I do not. A few thugs are nothing compared to the might of the dozen Security officers milling about their post. They could be swifts, strongarms, oblivions—Silvers who can make us pay in blood and pain. At least I know they’re not so dangerous as the Silvers of court, the whispers and silks and silences. Whispers as powerful as Queen Elara don’t wear lowly black uniforms. They control armies and kingdoms, not a few yards of marketplace, and they are far away from here. For now.
To our surprise, the first blow comes not from behind but from dead ahead of us. A bent old crone with a cane is not who she seems, and hooks Crance around the neck with her gnarled piece of wood.
She throws him to the ground and removes her cloak in one motion, revealing a bald head and a skull tattoo.
“Fish Market not enough for you, Mariner?” she snarls, watching as Crance lands on his back. Shade goes down with him, too tangled up in Crance’s limbs and his own crutch to stay standing.
I move to help, lunging forward, but an arm grabs me around the waist, pulling me back into the crowd. Others look on, eager for a bit of entertainment. No one notices us melt into the wall of faces, not even the four Seaskulls who followed us. We are not their target— yet.
“Keep walking,” Cal rumbles in my ear.
But I set my feet. I will not be moved, not even by him. “Not without Shade.”
The Seaskull woman smacks Crance as he tries to stand, her cane cracking soundly against bone. She’s quick, turning her weapon on Shade, who is smart enough to stay on the ground, his arms raised in mock surrender. He could disappear in an instant, jumping his way to safety, but knows he cannot. Not with every eye watching. Not with the Security post so close by.
“Fools and thieves, the lot of them,” a woman grumbles nearby. She seems to be the only one annoyed by the display. Merchants, patrons, and street urchins alike look on in anticipation, and the Security officers do nothing at all, watching with veiled amusement. I even catch a few of them passing coins, making bets on the brewing fight.
Another smack, this time hitting Shade’s wounded shoulder. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back a grunt of pain, but it echoes loudly over the Paltry. I almost feel it myself, and wince as he crumples.
“I don’t know your face, Mariner,” the Seaskull crows. She hits him again, hard enough to send a message. “But Egan certainly will. He’ll pay for your safe, if bruised, return.”
My fist clenches, wishing for lightning, but I feel flame instead.