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“Nobody liked Favian, but everyone respected his control of things.”
Silas looked back to Franco’s eyes and tried to guess which one looked at him, couldn’t, then stared at the bridge of his nose for safe measure. “What are people saying about the arena champion?”
“Many rumours have surfaced, mostly that she fled from debt once Favian was banished.”
Favian, Favian, Favian. It’s all about Favian. Silas thought about the last time he’d seen him, covered in his own blood in the field, intestines about to be unravelled in front of his own eyes. Then thought about Mara, also covered in Favian’s blood, willing to kill Favian at the drop of a hat. Every thought he had led back to Mara, one way or another.
“What shall we do, boss?” Franco asked.
Your guess is as good as mine. “Keep looking. Something will present itself. Look carefully at your own men.”
Franco stood and nodded. “Yes, boss.” Then left the tavern.
“Ale,” Silas shouted to the bar. A skinny tavern girl brought one over, then hurried away. All scared of me. Fear inherited from Favian. He stared into the ale, then took a gulp. Ale used to stop the burning inside. Not anymore, nothing did. I need to get to the boy. I need the burning to stop. But how? How do I find him?
The skinny girl returned, a look of horror on her face, and handed him a note. He unfolded it. Shadows. He rose, downed the ale, and headed outside.
Silas rode Vala out of Sevens Helm into the surrounding farmland. A huge flock of small birds swirled around in unison in the sky, then as the sun fell, they slowly disappeared into the trees. He approached two large grain barns. A dark figure on a horse stood between them. What do they want? News about my replacement? Perhaps they have returned Mara to me? The burning currently pressed between his shoulder blades. Or not.
The Shadow’s black mask looked slick in the twilight. Straight from hell.
“Your replacement has arrived in Sevens Helm and will take control with immediate effect,” the Shadow Master said.
A message from heaven rather than hell. Silas felt relief wash over him. He hadn’t imagined he’d be free of the place so quickly. He felt stupid. I contemplated death to avoid such a short sentence. But then why bring me out here to tell me? Is this where I die?
“You are to proceed to Talon,” the Master continued. “We have encountered a problem.”
“A problem?”
“Of sorts. We are led to believe that Mara has been captured within Talon Castle.”
Silas stopped breathing. No. “Arrested?”
“We believe the high-class of Talon to have organised the assignment, specifically to apprehend an assassin in order to gather information about the brotherhood. You will need to gather information of your own. Enter the castle, and if he lives, kill the boy.”
Kill him? Silas flexed his shoulder blades, the burn bit at him. I’ll save him a thousand times before I kill him. “Gaining access to the castle will be difficult.”
“You will follow the route provided to Mara if no alternative presents itself.” The Master handed over a note. “Gain knowledge of Mara’s specific location before you proceed. We have watchers in place monitoring the castle. I believe you are acquainted with the city well enough to know their positions.”
“I am.”
“We are aware of your intended plans to flee, Silas.”
Silas swallowed, a hot, prickling sensation covering his face. Fucking Favian.
“Complete this task, and we will require no further service from you. You will be free to leave the country, on the provision that you never return.”
Silas nodded. He had nothing to say to that. He knew what this was now. A death sentence, one way or another. They didn’t expect him to survive the task, and if he did, there would be others waiting for him on his exit, to finish what the Talon guard couldn’t. He felt weak, helpless. But he had no choice. I have to save Mara.
14
Daylight came and went twice before the bald man returned. This time he was joined by a skinny man with messy hair. Both of them wore brown leather aprons.
“This is Julias. He will be assisting us today.” The bald man looked up and down Mara. “My, my. You mustn’t pull on the chains. They will not break. Your wrists are a mess.”
Mara stared at the ceiling. His wrists didn’t hurt. They’d gone numb. “What’s your name?”
“Why, how very kind of you to ask. My name is Rupert. I have been informed your name is Peter, although I suspect this not to be the case. Shall we call you Peter, regardless?”
