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“Good,” he replied, shoving off the wall.
Shadows turned back to their vices, thick puffs of topaz curling in the air.
Hass’s mood soured as they moved through thick curtains into the second room of the den where shelves upon shelves of stolen artifacts were locked away behind glass doors.
“Renix above.” Hass ran a hand along the glass. “Why would he require such a collection?”
Renton took in the artifacts, eyes lingering on the enchanted mirrors Boedworth had contracted him to steal from a woman near the edge of Duskhallow, the isle of Ashens. “Power. If he holds all desirable things, he becomes the most powerful.”
“Izral won’t stand for it.” Hass made a fist on the glass as if to break it.
Renton nodded, unwilling to give in to hope that Izral would achieve justice. “What does this tome look like?”
Hass moved through the shelves, occasionally stopping to rant about items that had been stolen from the archives. He paused at the shelf next to Boedworth’s desk. “There.” He pointed to a leather-bound book sealed with a lock. “That’s what you seek.”
Renton knelt down to get a better look, disturbed by the thrum of old, acrid magic from its pages.
“Ready for this?” Renton asked, popping a tiny lockpick from within the bracer he’d borrowed from Fen—the boy’s latest invention.
“Where do I get one of those?” Hass asked, watching as Renton swiftly opened the glass enclosure.
Renton cracked a half grin. “Speak to the kid in Sut’hik’s kitchens. You’ll be pleasantly horrified by the weaponry he’s designed.”
“Huh. Hey, be careful with that thing. The tome is rumored to be cursed.”
Renton grabbed the book and dropped it into a sack. “So am I.”
A shadow man parted the curtains in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”
One glance at Hass and they were both racing for the front door, knocking the shadow aside with an elbow to the chin. It was a mad dash once they spilled out of the den.
“Stop!” one of the hunters shouted.
But the streets had yet to be cleared of splintered wood, smashed fruit, and a too-curious audience. Renton and Hass snuck into a dark tunnel formed of tree roots that coiled them back up the streets.
Twice he’d stolen from Boedworth. First Tenah and now a tome Boedworth must have prized if he’d risked stealing it from the Embassy. Such crimes would be severely punished if Boedworth ever got his hands on him or Aeyis.
Back at the hidden entrance to the tunnel, Renton knelt to give Hass a shoulder to step on. Once Hass had climbed out, he reached down to heave Renton up by the forearm.
Pausing a beat to catch his breath, Hass said in a quiet tone, “That seemed far too easy.”
Renton swallowed, nodding in agreement. The shard chomped down on his heart with razor teeth, and he practically threw the sack with the tome at Hass. “You should probably hold that.”
Hass didn’t question him, and soon they raced through the swamps, Renton directing Hass around pools of sludge and traps laid by clever Bogland beasts.
Near the perimeter to Brinedale, Renton called out for his brother, scanning the doorways for a spectral figure. The clouds had sunk lower in the sky, clinging to the glistening townhouses.
His brother never appeared. Panic threaded along his nerves.
“Stay here,” Renton said, and the assassin obliged, sinking back into a curtain of vines.
Renton walked the cobblestone streets, boots splashing through cold puddles. Still no response from Aeyis. He stepped up to the door of the first house. A lock clicked, and the shadow that opened it smiled with too-white teeth.
“Hello, little brother.”
Mias’s fist cracked against Renton’s jaw with all the strength of their stocky father, knocking him off the porch. When Renton caught his balance and looked up, Boedworth had exited the house, stalked by two of Mire’s hunters.
“Well, well,” Boedworth said. “I knew you’d come crawling back to me begging for forgiveness.”
