Page 98 of The Isles of the Gods
If only, if only, if only. Story of my life.
I’m still looking up Porter Lane when I turn toward home, and I take only a step before I run straight into the brick wall that is Dasriel.
Laskia’s fire magician is huge, a full head taller than me, and when I crane my neck to look up, his hard eyes are staring down at me. His clothes are scorched, his skin reddened—and he looks like vengeance itself.
Something inside me curls up, an animal cringing toward the shadows.Seven hells.
He doesn’t say a word, just lays a green-patterned hand on my shoulder and walks me into the tenements, silent at my back until he finds a quiet alley.
Then he turns me toward him, and without a word, drives a fist into my gut.
I double over, gasping for air as my lungs shudder, refusing to cooperate. I don’t know if I could fight back, but I know better than to try.
His fist connects again, and I stagger back, crashing into the slimy brick wall behind me. Lights flash in my vision as my head knocks against the rough bricks.
He grabs me by the front of my shirt, drawing me forward, and I focus on the magician’s marks winding their way up his forearms. Then he’s slamming me back again, and this time my vision flashes to black.
When he releases me, I drop to my knees, seeing stars, pain lancing up to my hips, and I let myself fall forward, palms slipping on the filthy ground. I try to hold myself up, but my elbows sway and bend, and a kick under the ribs sends me sprawling onto my back.
I’m still fighting to breathe as he stares implacably down at me, digging into his pocket to produce a box of matches and a copper coin.
No. Please, no.
He flicks the copper up into the air for the spirits, and it vanishes silently. Then he strikes a match, turning his attention to the tiny flame as I desperately try to push myself up on my elbows.
I did everything they asked. I went on the boat with Laskia. I watched her kill and kill and kill, and I held my tongue. I don’t want to die in fire.
The match’s flame swells suddenly to half the size of my head, roiling and churning as the spirits gleefully bring it to life, and it hovers above the palm of his hand.
I stare up at him, wordless.
He gazes down without a hint of compassion. Without any sign that he cares whether—
“Stop that, Dasriel.”
I turn my head, and Laskia stands at the mouth of the alleyway, her arms folded.
I don’t know how long she’s been here. I don’t know if she was here all along. But with a low rumble, Dasriel steps back, keeping the flame dancing on one hand, to take her place and keep watch.
She walks forward to crouch beside me where I lie in the muck, her movements crisp and precise. There’s fury in her gaze. And when she speaks, it’s so soft I can barely hear it over my own labored breathing.
“You said he was dead.”
Oh no.
Ten different things fight inside me at once—she knows Leander’s alive, and from the sound of it, she knows he’s in Port Naranda. Does she know I saw him? Does she think Tom had anything to do with it? Can I pretend surprise?
I want to protest, I want to tell her Ineversaid he was dead—I said I didn’t see him—but she’s not asking a question, and I don’t have enough breath for words. She’s not looking for my opinion or my excuses. So I wait to see what shedoeswant.
“The Alinorish ambassador,” Laskia says softly, “just went to the docks to meet with the prince at an inn. I got it from one of her staff.”
She pauses, but I say nothing, so she continues.
“We nearly had them, but this fool”—and she jerks a thumb over her shoulder at Dasriel—“blew up the auto before your royal friend was in it.”
I blink up at her, fighting to keep my face straight. A part of me is desperately relieved she didn’t kill Leander—kill himagain.Another part of me is dully certain this is very bad news for me.
“He got away?” I whisper, between gasps for air.
