Chapter 29
Webs of Defiance
Music: To Ashes and Blood by Woodkid
“A young woman refuses to leave the border, sir!” a Seer announced, barging into the conversation with urgency in his voice.
“River?” Hound asked, his tone devoid of interest, not even sparing the Seer a glance.
“Yes, sir!” the man exclaimed eagerly, his body stiff as he awaited Hound’s next words.
“Then kill her. Such inferior details are beneath me,” Hound responded, each word dripping with irritation.
The Seer hesitated before continuing, his voice wavering slightly. “If I remember correctly, Emily forbade any form of violence toward anyone matching the description. Emily said—”
“Emily said?” Hound interrupted, turning his attention to the man. He moved toward him slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. “I wasn’t aware Emily’s authority surpassed mine.”
The Seer bowed his head, his confidence crumbling as Hound drew closer. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his voice trembled as he stammered, “I—I made a grave mistake, Baron. It won’t happen again.”
A faint beep broke the tension, drawing Hound’s attention downward.
“Tell me,” Hound continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl, “who do you serve? Emily or me?”
Beep! The sound came again, sharper, faster. The Seer’s body stiffened, the slight tremor in his stance betraying his fear. It all clicked in Hound’s mind—the unusual confusion over hierarchy, the absence of any soul magic in his tear tattoo. This man wasn’t a Seer. He was an assassin.
Time slowed as Hound processed the realization. His instincts screamed for him to act, but the countdown ticked on. Too late. The bomb strapped to the assassin’s chest was seconds away from detonation. There was no time to counter, no time to run.
And then came a gust of wind, sharp and precise.
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April, Emily’s guard, blurred into motion, moving faster than the eye could track. In a single fluid motion, she unsheathed her blade and sliced through both wires connected to the bomb, severing them cleanly just as the timer hit zero.
Emily’s face darkened as the pieces fell into place. “I’d recognize that design anywhere,” she said, drawing her dagger. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, closing the distance between herself and the assassin before April could react.
The assassin revealed a rapier from beneath his cloak, meeting Emily in a clash of steel. He swung with practiced precision, his blade a blur as he aimed for her vitals. Emily dodged the first three strikes, each swing narrowly missing her by mere inches. Her movements were deliberate, calculated. When she spotted an opening, she lunged forward, driving her blade into his gut with surgical accuracy.
She quickly retreated, her instincts guiding her to maintain distance as the effect of her blade’s poison began to take hold. The assassin’s movements faltered as his body betrayed him, paralysis creeping through his limbs.
Emily seized the opportunity, pinning him by the neck against the wall. His body convulsed violently, his breath ragged as foam bubbled from his mouth. “You… traitor,” he muttered through clenched teeth. His voice was hoarse, his words weak but laced with venom. “She’s… waiting for you… at the border. By the hunting den.”
His final words were drowned in violent spasms as his body shook uncontrollably, the poisons coursing through his veins delivering their deadly verdict. The room fell silent as everyone watched, their expressions devoid of emotion. The assassin’s seizures ceased abruptly, his body slumping lifelessly to the ground.
Emily was the first to speak. Her tone was cold, resolute. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Everyone leave. You stay,” Hound ordered, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. The room emptied in an instant, the others vanishing like shadows, leaving only Emily and Hound behind. Binge gave Hound a nod as he departed, silently signaling their conversation would continue later.
“I’ll take care of it, Hound. Don’t sweat it,” Emily assured him, her voice steady but measured.
Hound’s gaze bore into her, unrelenting. “You recognize the bomb’s design, don’t you? I want a name. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“A person of your stature shouldn’t concern themselves with someone so trivial,” Emily replied, her words deliberate, almost soothing. “I am more than honored to—”
Her words were cut short as Hound’s hand shot out, gripping her throat with brutal force. Emily gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for his arm, but she didn’t resist further. She knew better.
Her breaths came in shallow, desperate bursts as her veins pulsed against her skin. Tears welled in her eyes, turning red as the pressure mounted. Hound’s grip tightened, smoke curling from his fingers as his temper flared.
“I don’t take attempts on my life as a jest,” Hound roared, his voice reverberating through the room. His eyes glowed faintly, the heat emanating from his body threatening to burn her alive. But just as quickly as his rage ignited, he released her, stepping back to regain control.
Emily collapsed to her knees, coughing violently as she fought to draw breath. “It’s… Mavis,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.
Hound’s brow furrowed. “And who the fuck is that again?”
“From the Dawson family… Daryl’s daughter,” she managed, her voice still hoarse.
Hound’s confusion deepened, but his suspicion sharpened. “And you care for this… Mavis so much that you’d disregard a direct order?” His tone was dangerously calm, his words laced with accusation. “You want to deal with this on your own, don’t you? Fine. Bring me her head before dawn.”
He turned to leave, his steps echoing in the quiet room. But Emily’s voice stopped him cold.
“And what if I said no?” she asked, her tone unwavering, her words defiant.
Hound froze, his back still turned as he processed her challenge. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes narrowing to ensure he had heard her correctly.