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An unnaturally chilling gust of wind tore down the street, raising goosebumps along Renton’s skin. The pressure at the base of his skull vanished. Immediately, he pushed up onto his feet in time to watch all five hunters go rigid then walk right into the lake in union. None of them resurfaced.
Renton’s shoulders dropped, his blade hanging useless from his hand.
A sound like that of a wounded animal spun him around. He spotted Boedworth on his hands and knees, trapped within a tornado of Ashen magic. Renton couldn’t help but relish in it for a moment—the sweet melody of his employer pleading for his life.
That satisfaction rapidly melted as Aeyis emerged from the house. His shoulders were hunched, his hair mussed as if he’d just rolled off the coach, no matter the fact that he’d just killed five hunters as if they were nothing more than stones to throw into the lake.
Vibrating with energy, Renton shook out his sword arm and walked over to the quivering councilman. Ignore the drowning hunters. His employment with Boedworth ended today.
A burst of cold magic smashed through the mental barriers he’d learned to build in camp.
Sorry to interrupt your vengeance, brother, Aeyis said.Mias is coming.
“Shit.” Facing Mias was worse than anything Renton could imagine. Boedworth enjoyed dishing out punishments, but Mias reveled in torture.
Renton’s eyes swept the street for any ripples of magic. He locked on the prison cart rocking up the dirt road, about to be devoured by the dense swamps. He glanced back at Boedworth and Aeyis.
I could melt his mind, but then we face our brother,Aeyis said.
Renton growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. No matter how much he desired Boedworth’s death, he also wasn’t keen on taking up the title of executioner again.
His stomach twisted at having to give his little brother the order.No more blood on your hands.
Aeyis didn’t argue.Escape plan?
Potentially a very stupid one, Renton answered, breaking for the jutting, moss-covered dungeon on the other side of the lake. He might have been grateful for the seamless communication with his brother, if not for his icy magic sifting through memories better left buried.
Long gone was the frail child immobilized by his overwhelming abilities.
Who the hell trained you?he asked as Aeyis met his pace, crumpling two of the guards at the dungeon’s gates. They stormed the dungeon, Renton shoving back guards to give Aeyis a chance to immobilize them temporarily.
“Ren? Is that… Is it really you?” a husky voice called.
Stride faltering, Renton scanned behind them for the source. His body tensed up, his heart picking up speed as he took in the tanned face and chin-length dark hair of the hunter that had appeared in the hall. The hunter looked to Aeyis for confirmation, his features scrunched up in a way Renton had never seen before.
“This isn’t a trick?” Gireth asked, words barely above a whisper.
Aeyis shook his head. “No trick.”
Without hesitation, Gireth charged Renton, gripping him around the back of the neck and tugging him into a crushing embrace. Renton choked back emotion.
Gireth. His best friend—no, hisbrotherwho had stood by him during the worst of Mias’s cruelty. Had suffered with him in camp, starved and beaten and broken down in the mud and rain and toxins.
Gireth gave him one more solid pat to the back and then pushed him away. “How? Mias told me you were dead. But you’re here. Does that mean you’re free from Boedworth?”
“Not exactly. I can explain later—”
Horns rang out through Mire, echoing like a pack of wolves at night.
Gireth cracked a wide smile. “Don’t tell me those are for you.”
Renton couldn’t help his own mischievous grin, heart soaring at this surprising reunion. “Would you expect anything less?”
His friend unbuckled his chest plate stamped with the bronze hammer they had balked at as children. Only rejected hunters became guards in Mire’s dungeons. What had happened to Gireth to end up here?
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Renton asked. “Understand if you run with me, you face criminal charges, at the very least.”
But he already knew the answer. Gireth had no family in Mire. No future beyond violence that he could ever see. His grandfather had shipped him to camp at the age of five, at his wits’ end with the boy’s inability to do anything well except stir up trouble. Failure to complete camp came with the stipulation that the boy would not be returned but dumped on Dreaddix instead.
