“Hey! Hey!”
“Sorry!”
Yassen slid off the platform, dodged the man, and ran across the roof, scanning the streets. For a moment, he thought he had lost Giorna, and his throat closed in panic. But then she reappeared from underneath a fluttering awning.
“Hawk? Hawk, where is she?”
Yassen ignored Samson. Heart pounding, he leapt onto the roof of the next building as Giorna sprinted down the street. He ran alongside her, his shadow flitting over the bricks and awnings of storefronts. Up ahead, Yassen spotted the colorful orange flags of the main bazaar.
It drew closer. Fifty paces, then forty, then thirty.
He jumped.
For a moment he was suspended in the air, weightless, free.
But then gravity took over, and he hurtled down on top of Giorna. She screamed as they hit the ground. The impact stunned Yassen, but Giorna recovered fast, twisting and digging her elbow into his stomach. He grunted in pain, but managed to reach for her arm, rolling and using his weight to pull her under him and pin her down. She thrashed in his grip, but he grabbed her other arm and twisted it above her head.
She spat in his face.
“You fucking traitor,” she seethed, her eyes wild. Sand clung to her auburn hair. “Fuck you.”
“Quit. Moving,” he grunted. Shouts echoed up the street, and Yassen looked up to see Samson’s men circling them, distinct in their black-and-blue uniforms.
“They’ll have your head for this,” she gasped. “Akaros will skin you alive.”
“So will they,” Yassen said quietly as he looked at the Black Scales, who now pointed their pulse guns at the two of them. Cautiously, one approached. He handed Yassen a pair of handcuffs, and Yassen clipped them on Giorna’s thin wrists, tightening them for extra measure.
They hauled her up. Giorna kicked and twisted, landing a blow on one soldier’s face before two others grabbed and tied her legs. Yassen turned away. He told himself that this was how it would be now. That freedom came with costs. But Giorna’s curses cut through him like a knife, and he wavered.
“You can stand a little taller now, Cass,” Samson said in his ear. He gave a soft chuckle. “Squad Dragon and Bear found the two other Arohassin agents. You’re cleared.”
Cleared.
Yassen sighed. Would he truly be cleared after all of this? Would his comrades ever forgive him?
They would have done the same. They would have sold me out too, if it came to it.
A crowd had begun to surround them. Yassen pulled his scarf tight, winding it around his head.
“Go on, nothing to see here,” a Black Scale ordered. “Go on! Back to your jobs!”
A hovercar with the silver feather of the capital police parted the sea of people. The guards pushed Giorna in, but not before she shot Yassen another burning look.
You would have done the same.
He watched the hovercar vanish. With the star of the show gone, the crowd began to disperse. Some gold caps stayed, eyeing Yassen. He knew they noticed his strange, pale eyes, the eyes of a Jantari, but they kept their distance from the Black Scales.
“Good hunting, Hawk,” one of the soldiers remarked. “I bet the old king will rest more easily tonight.”
“Sure,” Yassen replied dryly. “Now let’s get out of here.”
As he followed the soldiers, one gold cap hawked and spat in his direction.
Yassen stepped back, the familiar sensation of anger and shame burning through him. Suddenly, he was transported to when he was a child, flinching from the unforgiving gazes of strangers who could not understand him. The gold cap gawked at him now, but Yassen forced himself to swallow his pride. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many Arohassin agents he delivered, Yassen knew he would never be accepted. His was the life between edges. Between Ravence and Jantar, right and wrong, holy and damned.
He ignored the gold caps and got into the car. Just less than a month. He only had to survive until coronation day. Elena would be crowned queen, and his job would be done. He would be free.
The gold caps watched even as he drove away.
