Page 27 of Ashen Wings

“I want double the payout,” I say, lacing my fingers together. “And how do I know you won’t kill me the moment I become of no use to you?”

“I’m a man of my word, Nova Lindwen,” Jace says, and his voice drags over me like velvet.

“Even if you are, Jace Ashborne, I have contingencies.”

He arches a brow and leans over the table until he’s close enough to feel the chill radiating from his skin.

“Fine. What is it you want?” he asks.

I think back to my father’s various tomes and the mental page lands on a line long forgotten.

“A protection bond,” I reply, and Jace’s jaw ticks.

“Clever girl,” he growls, the sound a low rumble in his throat. “Fine. A protection bond it is. No harm will come to you by my hand so long as it’s in place. I’ll need some time to get a hold of that particular rune.”

“And when the job’s done?”

“I’ll break the bond when you’re safely settled into your new life,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Is a handshake sufficient or would you prefer I draw up a contract?”

“I won’t be bound to any more contracts, especially not to you,” I say, placing my hand in his. The callouses burrowed over his palms scrape against my own, igniting a trail of heat up my arm. I jerk away, refusing to acknowledge the growing flutter in my belly as anything more than gut reaction.

With a quick reminder again that this man held me captive and threatened an execution, I return to my now lukewarm coffee and refocus on the breakfast spread laid out before us.

“Finnick will come looking for me if I haven’t at least sent word in a few weeks,” I say.

“I’ll handle Finnick Derald’s impatience, starling,” he replies. I don’t ask for clarification on the matter, because truthfully, I don’t care if the old mercenary lives or dies. There is a conversation to be had when my debt is finally paid off, but I can’t get ahead of myself—no matter how much I look forward to offering him a satisfying fuck you.

“Fine.” I reach for a melon slice and bring it to my lips. “Where do we start?”

13

"So, what? You seriously think some tavern back room and a round of ale is going to get us anywhere?" My boots skid on the gravel as we cross the property line and start for Shadow's inner districts.

"No, but I do think it'll get us closer to a known fugitive from Storm that's been hiding out in the tavern back rooms as you say," Isra says, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. I quicken my pace to keep up.

It had taken three hours of Roe and Isra bickering to agree on the first step in our plan. One of Jace's informants reported that a certain Tanner Pyris—an open bounty out of Storm—was holed up in one of Shadow’s grungier bars claiming he’d run off with the wealth of some silver-haired merchant. How he slipped over the border is beside me, but with most land patrols distracted by the lurkers, maybe it’s not as impossible as I thought.

Rumors float like dust in the smog across the continent, and if Pyris is telling the truth, this merchant could be our rider. Just as everyone around here keeps saying, silver hair is only a trait found in Sovereign and thus the best lead we’ve gotten.

Roe preferred the brute force method, while Isra, surprisingly, wanted the strategic approach—track down Pyris for a nice little chat.

"When we get there, keep your head low, and let us do the talking. People around here don't take kindly to foreigners, especially from Smoke," Roe says, spitting the last word. It's the most she's said to me that hasn't been some variation of I'll kill you since they've brought me here, and although I much prefer to be on the giving end of death threats, her forced alliance is somewhat discomforting. She could offer an antidote to the most lethal of poisons, and I’d still believe she'd turn around and kill me herself.

"Head down. Don't speak. Got it," I reply, falling into line beside Isra.

The wooded road opens into city outskirts, marked by a narrow outpost and various little homes. Nothing in comparison to Smoke's scorched fringe, but the lavish wealth back at the fortress is nowhere to be seen here. Isra tosses the guard—dressed in an all-black infantry uniform—a stipennote as we pass. The guard dips his chin and guides us through the narrow iron gateway toward the city.

"You're not from Shadow," I say, inspecting my two companions. They don't bear the typical Shadow traits—bleached-pale skin, midnight hair, and eyes to match. Isra's dark complexion feels like sunlight warming a lush earthen forest and Roe's fairer tone is like the seafoam atop raging swells during a late summer squall.

Clearly they're foreigners amidst the faction, and yet, every citizen we pass offers a thankful smile or gesture of respect.

"No, we aren't, but we've since assimilated. My father was Storm's emissary assigned to Jace's dad, the late Van Ashborne. I grew up here, right beside Jace. And Roe...well, she rolled right out of the wastewater drain when she was just a babe," Isra says, flashing a grin toward her.

Roe's ears turn a furious shade of cherry. "Oh, cut the shit, Is. If anyone's from the trash heaps it's you." She looks to me. "I'm from Sea."

"How did you find your way to Shadow then? That’s across the continent?" I ask, watching Roe's expression fade into her typical sinister sharpness.

"That's none of your concern," she bites.