"NO!"

I stumbled back, slamming into the wall. The dagger slipped out of my trembling hand.

What's wrong with me?

I glanced up. Blood was pooling where my dagger began carving into Isla's flesh.

Fuck!

I darted forward, my hands hovered over her. I was too afraid to touch her.

What else was I capable of?

It was a shallow cut. I'd chosen the second option. I dabbed at it with my sleeve, and my stomach sank when I realized I would have her blood on my clothes.

I grabbed the sides of my head.

Isla… I'm sorry… I'm sorry. The dream had felt so real life. I couldn't do anything to stop her—to stop me.

My eyes darted to the floor, finding the blooded-flecked dagger. I picked up the weapon and cleaned it off on my bloody shirt sleeve.

Cassandra was going to check in at any moment. I needed to hide the evidence.

I cut the shirt sleeve at the elbow with my dagger and pushed the bloody fabric into my pocket.

I couldn't let anyone see—couldn't let anyone realize… that I was a monster.

I paused, letting my shoulders slump, and my eyes unfocus.

I'm a monster… Just like I wanted to be.

I glanced at Isla. The cut would leave a thin scab—explained away as an injury from yesterday's fighting.

But I knew the truth.

I couldn't be trusted.

I needed to tell someone before the guilt crushed me, but who?

Castille...

She would understand.

She had seen the horrors of war firsthand. Compared to that, my actions were nothing.

I dropped my dagger and burst through our door into the hallway.

My knuckles rapped on the varnished wood of Castille and Dugan's door. Light groans and footfalls echoed through the surface. It creaked open. Dugan stood in front of me, naked to the waist, with their red silken bedsheet wrapped around his legs.

Over his shoulder, Castille and Cassandra were asleep in a naked tangle of limbs.

He looked up at me.

"Jacob?"

I blinked, grasping for words and finding none.

"N-Nothing... It's nothing."

I walked away and then broke into a sprint.

I needed to get out of here—away from Isla and anyone else I could hurt. I flew down the stairs, hopping over the drunken bodies sleeping on the Pit's floor.

I swung open the front doors, face twisting at the smell of burning flesh.

Everything reminded me of my past.

Outside, the morning sun had begun its slow climb in the sky, but my eyes were drawn to another source of light—a pyre between two stacks of bodies. The first stack was made of stone men waiting to be stripped of their crystal eyes and metallic frames. The second pile was our recently dead. They were already stripped of their valuables. Dirty cloth wrapped their bodies as they awaited cremation.

I dropped down on the steps, watching the guards at our makeshift barricades. In front of the Guildhall, bleary-eyed servants were preparing a covered wagon.

That must be for us.

The door to the Guildhall cracked open, and Reed walked out with two of her black-clad guards trailing behind her.

She stopped when she saw me, waving away her guards before walking over.

"Jacob, wild night?"

Reed smiled and pointed at my cut-away sleeve. Her smile dropped when she saw the look on my face.

"What's wrong?"

I met her eyes. She almost looked the same without the sceptre, beautiful and completely amoral.

She wouldn't judge me.

She was the only other person who could understand.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"I… I almost did something terrible."

"Hmm."

Reed looked up to the doors of the Pit.

"It couldn't have been that bad. The inn is still standing."

I shook my head.

"I don't need your jokes, Reed."

"Then what do you need?"

I ran my hand over my face.

"I don't know... advice?"

Reed quirked an eyebrow, her lips curling in a mischievous smile.

"I can do advice."

I examined my feet.

This was a bad idea.

I did it anyway.

"I've spent ten years trying to become something—follow in someone else's footsteps. But now... now, I don't want to. I don't want to be her, but I don't know how to be anything else."

"Her?"

I sighed.

"She was like my mother. She raised me… in a way."

"Hmm."

Reed shrugged her club off her shoulder, letting the spiked end thud into the dirt.

"If you want to change, you should know what you want to become."

"But I'm saying I don't know!"

She favoured me with a gentle smile.

"That's why I love hierarchy. If you want to know what to want out of life, all you have to do is look up."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Can I tell you a story about a fisherman's daughter?"

I met her eyes and nodded.

She stepped closer.

"Then make some room."

I scooted to one side of the wooden steps, letting Reed's shapely body squish against mine. She let the pommel of her club rest on the crook of her neck.

"There once was a poor fisherman. He sold the fish he caught from the capital's main canal. One winter, he ran short of money and went to the Sanctifiers for a loan. Alone, his life had little value. He was frail and sickly, but his wife was beautiful, and his daughters were young. So, he put his entire family up as collateral."

She paused to watch a patrol of guards leave the barricades.

"What happened next?"

"They survived the winter, and the fisherman's family tried to repay the loan. His daughters helped him fish, and his wife opened a stall in the market. It wasn't enough. When the time came to repay the loan, the fisherman was short. He ended up throwing himself into the canal to become food for fish he used to catch."

"And the rest of the family?"

"His wife and daughters became indentured servants, but where most saw chains, one of the daughters saw opportunity. There was a hierarchy to the servants, and she started to climb it. By the end of her indentured servitude, she was a member of the Guild, and, in even less time, she became the youngest Inquisitor in their history."

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course, the story is about you."

Reed turned to me and smiled. She was close—a sweet, fruity scent on her breath.

"When my father died, I could have followed in his footsteps and become a fisherman, but the Sanctifiers offered me a different path. It was a clean slate. A new life with structure and order."

Her voice fell to a whisper.

"I think it's just what you need. Do you know what else you need?"

She leaned into me, or was I leaning toward her? The gravity of her presence pulled me in, the colour of her lips… the way she smelled.

The front doors smashed open.

"Jacob!"

I turned to see Castille fidgeting with the straps of her breastplate. Reed pulled away, standing up and slinging her club over her shoulder.

Castille rubbed her eyes.

"Where's the fire?"

"What?"

"You were knocking down our door a few minutes ago."

"Oh, that… I'm OK now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah…"

Castille glanced at Reed.

"Inquisitor, we missed you last night."

Reed turned to her, her face a mask of practiced pleasantness.

"I do like being missed. Maybe we can arrange another date."

Castille grunted.

"Maybe. Is that wagon for us?"

"Yes, we'll be ready to visit the Vangraves as soon as you finish breakfast. I sent a rider ahead yesterday. The young Lord is expecting us."

"Good. Jacob, is Isla up?"

I froze.

"Um... S-She's still sleeping."

"She should stay and rest," Reed said.

Castille nodded.

"We're going to eat now. Do you want to join us, Inquisitor?"

Reed flashed Castille a sugary, sweet smile.

"I already ate. I'll stay out here. Come out when you're ready."

She walked back to inspect the wagon. My eyes followed the slight sway of her hips before a strong, scarred hand clamped on my shoulder.

"I just saved you, lad."

"What do you mean?"

She smirked, nodding to Reed.

"That one was about to swallow you whole."

"Why do you care?"

Castille looked at me, confused.

"Maybe I've taken one too many blows to the head, but last I remember, you wanted nothing to do with the Sanctifiers."

"I-"

"You said it yourself: they want to get to the elves by going through you. I'm not going to let that happen… for your sake or theirs."

"I..."

I sighed, slumping my shoulders.

"You're right."

Castille slapped me on the back.

"I'm always right. Remember that when you start thinking with your other head. Now, breakfast is waiting."

# # #

After breakfast, I opened the door to our room. It was how I left it. Isla was still asleep, muttering something under her breath. My dagger was still on the floor, tossed aside in my flight from the room.

I clenched and unclenched my left hand when I spotted the weapon.

Sin or Reed. Both promised a path forward for my life. Both wanted to use me—Reed in more ways than one.

What did I want?

I walked into the room and picked up the dagger. My face reflected in the blade. The grinning boy was gone. I killed him just as much as Sin.

I washed up and got dressed, sheathing my dagger in my cane and strapping on my sword belt. I slipped into my wrinkled jacket on the floor, poking a finger through the hole near the stomach.

I would need to get Shay to look at that.

The spectre had rolled under the bed during the night. I found it and tucked it into my belt sash.

All the while, Isla continued to mutter in her sleep.

What was she saying?

I walked over to her side of the bed, stopping to slide an empty glass of water away from the edge of her nightstand.

I placed the back of my hand against her forehead.

Her skin was damp and warm but not burning hot. So, no fever.

I hovered my fingers under her nose.

Her breathing was deep and slow—the kind you expected from deep meditation.

Finally, I bent down to put my ear close to her mouth.

Through the jumble of words, I picked out a name: Cassandra.

She had just eaten with us. Compared to yesterday, she was less nervous… for obvious reasons. The bond between her, Castille and now Dugan was as bizarre as it was strong. It flew in the face of Mrs. Dulldrey's lessons on noble propriety, but who was I to judge, given everything I'd done?

I patted her hand.

"Don't worry. Cassandra will be back soon."

My left hand lingered on hers. Arwen's words echoed in my mind.

You love her, don't you?

I pulled my hand back like I touched an open flame.

I should go...

They were waiting for me downstairs.

My eyes drifted to her face. It was so calm—so Isla.

What do I want?

My mouth twitched.

"Isla... I think I love you…"

Her eyes didn't open. Her body didn't stir.

Of course not; this wasn't one of Mr. Reeves' books.

I sighed.

"When you wake up, I'll find the strength to say that again. I don't know where this path leads, but I want to walk it beside you. I want to change."

The words made my stomach twist into knots. A wave of heat made my face flush.

This is embarrassing!

I double-checked the cane on my hip and brushed my hand against the sceptre tucked into my belt sash.

I was ready.

I stalked out of the room.

It was time to get what we were owed.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.