Page 464 of Coal Hearts

Victor pinned his eyes on me. “And where was Peter in all of this?”

I swallowed hard, hoping I wouldn’t let the team down.

The fact that they covered for Henri?

That they banded around a Master and implicated him in our war effort without even knowing if he was on our side sent my entire nervous system fizzing with fear.

“Peter was unconscious.” I fought the urge to copy my friends and use Victor’s title with respect. I’d refused to do such things. If I started now...wouldn’t that look suspicious?

Instead, I braced to be reprimanded and snapped, “You burned his hands and feet then sent him off running. You knew he might not survive the day. It’s taken the three of us to keep him alive this long.”

Victor shot Henri a look. “How did you end up carrying him?”

Henri’s voice was low and bored as if this entire conversation fucked him off. “I watched the tide spit them out of the cave system. They looked half drowned, and it was well past dusk. I figured you’d be pissed if I didn’t get them home where they belong. That’s also when I shot them.” He smiled like a killer. “They were too tired to run.”

Victor grinned. “That was very considerate of you to carry Peter, mon ami. Especially seeing as you were wounded yourself.”

“It’s fine. Peter’s useful to you.” Henri sniffed. “I figured you’d miss him for whatever odd jobs he helps you with around here.”

Victor stroked his smooth chin. “You’re quite right. He’s a handy boy to have. But I need to ask...why do you even care? You’ve made it abundantly clear you’re not a fan of his.”

Henri hoisted Peter once again and looked down at the unconscious jewel with a sneer. “He pisses me off, and you’re right, I don’t like him. But...this is my home, and you are my friend. So...here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” Victor let heavy silence fall, studying each of us with terrifyingly intelligent eyes.

My skin crawled the longer he dragged out the pause.

My breath caught on the nasty sharpness centred in one of my ribs.

I almost sighed in relief as he chuckled under his breath. “So you saved my jewels then shot my jewels. Fitting, I suppose.” He shifted a little, looking at our red paint. “My memory can be a bit fuzzy sometimes, but...didn’t you have orange bullets this morning?” He glanced at my thigh where Henri had shot me in the line-up.

Not even a streak remained, completely branded over with scarlet.

“You’re right, I did.” Henri nodded. “I had an unfortunate incident with a blowhole and broke my gun at the very beginning. I would say you’d find the useless weapon on the beach, but the tide would’ve washed it away.”

“And where did you get the replacement from?” Eyeing the weapon hanging off Mollie’s shoulder.

“Kyle.” Henri grinned. “He stabbed me, we fought, I grabbed his gun and left him to it. I figured he wasn’t using it and had already caught the jewel he wanted, so...”

“Did you see who he cut?”

“No.” Henri shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Quite understandable. It’s a high-stakes game. It’s why I don’t play along. I prefer my position as referee and live vicariously through you.”

“Well, you missed out.” Henri gave him another rancid smile. “It was fun.”

“It definitely seems so, seeing as you’ve returned with three of my jewels as your spoils. I hope you don’t think—just because you covered them in bruises and brought them home safely—that I’ll allow you to keep all three?” His eyes glinted. “Besides, I thought you were only interested in one.”

“I am,” Henri snapped. “I just...got trigger happy. Look, Vic, Peter weighs a fucking tonne. He needs your doctor, and I’m—”

“Yes, yes, you’re tired and want to rest.” Wrinkling his nose, Victor nodded slowly. “I admit you stink of seaweed, and Peter looks as if you should’ve left him for the gulls.” Leaning in, he flicked up one of Peter’s eyelids before letting it snap back down. “The doctor is in her personal rooms, not the surgery. She’s had a long day, and the patient rooms below are full. Go upstairs to her. However, you might’ve wasted your energy carrying him back. He smells as if death has already found him.”

“That’s his hands and feet, you bastard,” I hissed.

Henri turned on me, roaring in French. “Tiens ta putain de langue, Ilyana, ou je vais te la couper. J'en ai marre de ton attitude, tu m’entends?!” (Hold your fucking tongue, Ilyana, or I’ll cut it out. I’m sick to death of your attitude, do you hear me?!)

I recoiled and tripped backward on throbbing feet.