Page 75 of The Hood and his Thief

A hand landed on the back of her neck, and her shoulders hunched up.

“Stop.”

The word rung through the air with crushing weight and settled into Rhosyn’s limbs like lead. She struggled, but it was as if the connection between her brain and body had been cut, leaving her dangling like an abandoned marionette.

A rough chuckle sounded behind her, grating against her skin like stone.

“Usually it takes me weeks of building influence over somebody to be able to command them with my Talent so thoroughly. But if somebody lets their guard down enough to let me touch them, skin to skin, well…” Hamish chuckled again, Rhosyn’s current helplessness clearly illustrating his meaning. “It’s how I got one of the King’s Guard to tell me where he had gone when I suspected a trap.”

“Why are you doing this?” Rhosyn growled, seemingly still capable of speaking, despite being otherwise immobilized.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he spat. “King Byron is like any other powerful man, willing to step on the rest of us to maintain control.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Rhosyn insisted, voice taking on a pleading edge. “Whatever Mr. Gower has told you, it doesn’t have to be this way. King Byron ended the Inquiries... You’re safe now.”

“I’ll never be safe while my Talent makes me useful,” Hamish growled, but his voice broke on the last word. “Mr. Gower…he has my son somewhere. I don’t know where, but if I fail, he’ll hurt him.”

Rhosyn’s heart sank. Another parent and child separated by a Talent. As much as her heart stuttered in sympathy though, she fought against his mental hold. If he succeeded, the Inquiries would start anew, and many more children would be ripped from their parents.

“I can help you,” Rhosyn insisted. Her fingers started to wiggle, as if her paralysis eased, but then his grip tightened at the nape of her neck once more. She went rigid.

“Oh, you will. You’re going to kill King Byron for me. You were already blamed for the last attempt, and I can’t very well get my son back if I’m in jail.”

His words doused Rhosyn in cold like ice. She tried to shout, but her voice seemed taken from her now too.

“Go on,” he urged. “Knock on the compartment door. Your friend will recognize you and let you in. Then one slice with one of your knives, and it’ll all be over.”

His grasp on her nape loosened, but the claws that gripped her mind only dug in further. Rhosyn’s feet took one step forward, then another. It was the sensation of being in a dream, her unconscious mind taking charge and leading her down a perilous path while her conscious self screamed helplessly from the sidelines. But there would be no waking from this dream. Not until the King’s blood stained her already dirty hands.

Her arm raised, knuckles poised to knock on the entrance to the compartment holding Contessa and King Byron.

A crash interrupted her actions. She managed to turn her head to see Ansel crash into the car from the same direction she had come, although she couldn’t move away from her position. Ansel froze in the doorway, panting heavily as his gaze darted over the scene in front of him, rapidly cataloging the situation.

“Ah, the infamous Hood, I presume. You’ve caused too many problems already,” Hamish mused. “I suppose I can knock out two birds with one stone here. Kill him first.”

Horror rose in Rhosyn’s throat, a palpable thing making her unable to draw breath. Still, her hands slid into her sleeves, the knives within settling on her palms with the weight of finality. Rhosyn might not be the knife fighter Nate was, but she had brawled with Ansel enough times to know that in a fair fight, his odds were slim. If he were holding back for fear of hurting her… Rhosyn could only hope help came in time.

Ansel raised his hands, but Rhosyn advanced on him as if pulled forward by a string. With her eyes, she begged him to arm himself—to grab his blades before she was forced to drive her own into his flesh.

She raised her arm, and in the instant before it came down, silver flashed in his hand. He grabbed his knife just in time to catch her blow on the hilt of his weapon. In a flurry, Rhosyn disengaged. Rhosyn swung again and again, but Ansel only dodged, making no attacks of his own.

Her mouth was not under her control enough to form words, but she managed to squeeze out a choked sob. She hoped it conveyed all that her voice couldn’t say right now.

Fight back. Please. I’d rather die here than have to watch myself kill you.

When she raised her arm next, Ansel took his shot. A blade thunked into the wall behind her. As her arm swung forward, she was jerked back, Ansel’s knife pinning her to the wall by her sleeve—just as he had the first time they’d met.

Another thunk, and her other arm was pinned.

“Break free! Kill him!” the groom shouted, his voice clawing into her mind as she started to struggle against her restraints.

Ansel rounded on him, advancing when a ripping split the air as Rhosyn’s sleeve gave way. To her horror, she brought the blade in her hand to her own throat.

“Stop,” the groom commanded Ansel. Hamish’s voice was his own, with no Talent behind it, but he didn’t need it. Ansel froze as Rhosyn’s movement caught his eye.

“If you attack me, I’ll have her kill herself,” the groom announced triumphantly.

Ansel’s gaze met hers, his deep emerald gaze pleading. Her hand trembled, against her throat, the tip of the knife scratching the delicate skin there. A warm rivulet of blood trickled down to pool in the hollow of her collarbone. The sensation did something to cut through the odd haze of her mind.