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When Renton didn’t take the bait, his employer’s smile turned sour. Boedworth yanked open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a black folder. He slapped it down between his blood fortune. “I expect these Corrupt brought to me in a week’s time. Alive but incapacitated.”
Renton’s eyes dropped to the folder. Where would it lead him this time? Across the deserts to Nightfall again? To the outskirts of stormy Adra?
He picked up the file and let it fall open in his dirty palms. Only two targets. His muscles tensed. The first was an ex-assassin to Vozar’s king, granted lordship over a small town outside Firesteep’s gates. The second was the lord’s daughter.
“Vozarian nobility?” Renton questioned.
Hunting beasts in the swamps or deserts was one thing. Crossing into territory ruled by a hate-filled, antagonistic fire king was entirely another. Depending on how far Corrupt these targets were, ripping nobility from their home could result in backlash from a kingdom already pitted against them.
What the hell was Boedworth playing at? What was the angle here? Because when it came to Boedworth, there was always something to be gained.
“Yes, Mr. Murfell. So glad you can read. The lord’s highly infected by Chaos. The High Court wants a pulse on him and the child. I want them in chains. Better they rot on the icy plains of Dreaddix than run amok like savages, further infecting the population.”
Dreaddix had become the temporary answer to those ruled too dangerous for imprisonment or Ashen mind-melting. Prisoners were dumped onto the uncharted, icy wasteland and left to defend themselves against wrathful nature and its most skilled predators.
Renton’s brows furrowed. “Why doesn’t the Vozarian king handle them?”
Vozar’s king was notorious for snap reactions. Severing alliances at the slightest irritation. Burning trade bridges. Demolishing portals between isles, even though they hadn’t churned with a drop of magic since the High Court shut them down during the war to slow the spread of Corruption.
Annoyance flickered across Boedworth’s face. “This is why I sit in this seat and you hold the butcher knives. If matters are left to the Vozarian king, the Corrupt will be executed.”
“I fail to see how that’s a problem. We’ve been executing them for decades.”
Boedworth slammed a fist down on his desk. Krotens sprang out in all directions, cascading to the floor. “I do not employ you to ask questions. Things change. Accept the hunt, or your brother pays. That’s always been the deal.”
Renton’s head tipped slightly. Boedworth typically kept his emotions in check. Why the sudden short fuse? Unless this hunt was important. The glint of feral desperation in his employer’s eyes gave Renton hope.
Maybe this was it. The contract he needed to set things right.
He peered down at the file once more, committing coordinates to memory. He’d been instructed to kill hundreds of Corrupt. Why had that changed? It wasn’t like they could be controlled. None had ever been healed that he knew of. Neutralizing them only seemed to aid with transporting them, but even that didn’t require finesse. Toss them on the back of a winged beast and drop them on a blizzard isle to freeze or tear each other apart.
To hell with it.Renton tossed the file back on the desk, prepared to risk another broken bone for his demand. “My brother walks free at the end of this. I’ve earned that much.”
Boedworth’s fingers curled around the edge of his desk, bleached white from his grip. “You’re not in a position to barter.”
“Then find someone else.” Renton crossed his arms over his chest. “But you said it yourself—the hunt is easy for me.”
Boedworth pushed out of his chair. “I should punish you for your insolence, boy. Don’t forget, I have your precious little ghost brother under my thumb. One wrong move and his bones will be rearranged by the eldest Murfell. And you know just how creative he can be.”
Renton didn’t budge. Didn’t so much as blink as Boedworth stared him down.
After a few huffing breaths, Boedworth reluctantly withdrew a small pouch. He dropped a meager amount of krotens inside and threw it on top of the file. “For transportation,” he instructed. “Have my secretary refine the contract and bring it to me for review in the hour. Seven days, Mr. Murfell. Don’t assume this one will be a walk in the woods. My last three hunters failed.”
The warning echoed in Renton’s head as he snatched the coin pouch and stalked from the den, blades soon returned to their rightful place buckled across his spine.
One more hunt. Then his little brother would walk free.
Chapter3
Tenah
Tenah preferred the rotting gardens over the king’s gathering.
Blame the seven years of near solitude. That, or her father’s poisonous magic had finally seeped into her mind, twisting and fraying until she’d become something unrecognizable too. Vozar seemed to believe her family was something primal. It was possible they were right.
So yeah, she found comfort in the thorns and overgrowth of the manor courtyard. Wrapped up in nature, she could breathe without choking on a hundred different sources of magic tainting the air. That was the problem with all her training—the heightened senses. She could identify numerous sources of magic birthed from the Void, but she’d failed to find the one source she needed the most.
Tenah poked a droplet of rain balanced on the edge of a leaf from an afternoon flash storm. So delicately balanced, just like her. Clinging on dearly to the present as if it were a tangible, physical thing she could stretch and blanket over her family.
