Page 33 of Fire to the Stars

“How long until the wing regrows?” Abel asks.

“That I don’t know. Hanna had intended to document it across several targets. Clever girl, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Abel says quietly. “Hanna was clever.”

The soft tone of his voice jars me, so at odds with the slayer who speaks of experiments, weapons, and amputations. If he mourns Hanna, then he must’ve cared for her once. He might’ve even loved her.

Lyle gives the shackle to Abel. “Help yourself to any other equipment I have. You can pay me once you catch up on bounties.”

Abel raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”

“Now that Ravinfort is gone, I have to travel all the way back to Varsonne. You’ll be doing me a favor by lightening my pack.”

Abel considers the shackle, then sorts it into his stash with a myriad of Lyle’s other merchandise: a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, and a few spare daggers. Finally, he fixes the long sword to his back and lays his pack over it, squaring his shoulders for the journey.

This is a nightmare.

Hanna’s hunting information guarantees Abel will be pitted against a dragon upon the next Ignition.Twoof them, if I don’t find sleep powder in time. I need to retake control of my con, or Lyle will steal him from my proximity.

I point to a bench overlooking the docks. “Sit down for me.”

Lyle’s eyes widen. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you. I have questions.”

Lyle takes to the bench. Nothing suspicious happens at first.There.A single bob of his knee. A flicker of pale knuckles on curled fists. Lucy looks very cute as she nips his trousers, but he makes himself a littletoopreoccupied with petting her. The longer he holds his smile, the more it quivers.

Those reflexes would seem trivial to anyone else. Even to me, they provide no more than a hunch. But the Dames Blanches taught me not to ignore them.

I open my mouth to question him. To my shock, Abel speaks first.

“Enough of this farce, Lyle,” he says. “What are you hiding?”

I’m up to seven solo kills. I’d prefer to see your face as you absorb this undoubtedly devastating news, but number eight beckons.

—Dove message from Hanna du Fay to Abel Estellio, January 1760 AA

Chapter Ten

Abel

Once upon a time, Hanna walked into Lyle’s shop while I was eyeing a short sword. After a minute of pretending to ignore each other, we gave each other the stink eye and sparked a bidding war for the damn thing. Hanna outbid me at quadruple the sale price. She walked out of the shop with that sword so smugly, Lyle couldn’t stop laughing over his pile of silver lunes. I insisted he forge me an identical sword at half price for my embarrassment, but he refused. In his own words, discounts don’t pay the bills.

Lyle would never give out product for free. Not unless he feels guilty.

Claire crouches in front of him and offers the flask from her satchel. “Here,” she says. “It’s wine.”

He gulps a mouthful from the flask, then returns it.

“I’m being extorted,” he blurts.

“How?” I demand.

Claire tucks the flask away. Probably satisfied with herself,given the knowing glance she casts me. “Tell us everything,” she says to Lyle. “We can help you.”

Lyle retrieves a polished maple-wood box from his pack, like something my parents might’ve used to store a trophy dagger. He opens the lid—and the three of us collectively gag from the scent of rotting flesh from a puffy human hand. But the hand isn’t so decayed that I can’t see calluses on the fingertips. Evidence of decades of needlework.

I cough. “Is that—”