"Gag him, Tonio!"
At Kael's command, Tonio dumped him and Els from his shoulders. They grunted on the pavement as the rat-man lashed at Jorgen.
Though the teenager's dark eyes widened, he instantly dropped his baskets. As they clanged on dirty cobbles, he reached for something tucked behind his back, his mouth snapping open.
"INTRU—MMPH"
Tonio's fingers wrapped around his face, squeezing his mouth shut mid-scream, and lifting him off the ground. But half of it still echoed in the morning chill.
A chill that seeped through the blankets covering Kael, into his bones. Fighting the weakness in his limbs, he clutched the wall for support, shoving himself up much faster than he thought he could. How could he not? The archers shivered on the roofs.
They had heard Jorgen.
"Run. Els, his baskets!" Hugging the wall, he moved toward the street.
Each step made him wobble, but he clenched his jaw through the pain. He would not be discovered. Not after escaping the beggar streets. Even less because of a fool like Jorgen.
Something clanged behind him. An arrow? Shit!
Before he could turn, two baskets swung at the edge of his vision. Els elbowed his back, and he tumbled forward.
A shoulder swept his legs, and his feet left the ground. His vision tilted violently. The turning archers were in front of him, not the entrance to Ashcoil Row, and he cracked the source of the sound: a dagger wrenched from Jorgen's hands clattered on the pavement.
"Ah!" At Els' soft gasp, archers and daggers blurred.
When the dagger's clatter faded, the archers fully turned. Arrows nocked, they scanned the entrance of the street.
Their eyes trailed deeper, just as Tonio leapt behind the low wall of a large house. Els, who had been pushed, tumbled. Medicinal herbs, bandages, and ointments spilled out of the baskets.
Tonio followed face-first, falling onto Jorgen.
Kael was thrown off during the lunge, rolling on the ground until the opposite wall stopped him. He pressed his hand to his forehead as if that and a suppressed grunt would fix his swimming vision.
Els sobbed nearby. That he could make out, along with Jorgen's screams drowned under Tonio's overworked breath. Not even a second to rest. Not now.
"You hear me... Els?" A cough broke his whispered call.
"Yes..." Els' blurry silhouette sat.
His chest tightened, but he had no time to comfort her. "Don't use your truth. Check if the archers moved. Now."
Her clothes rustled two steps away. Then an absence of answers. Heavy. Suffocating. Jumbled thoughts battled in Kael's mind for a plan, an idea, anything to escape if the thugs were on them.
His fingers tightened on his forehead, but nothing. Tonio was too tired. At least, Jorgen still struggled beneath him, which meant he hadn't moved yet.
Icy dread squeezed his gut. Without him, they were done for.
"Kael. The archers..." Els' whisper sliced across his mind like a knife. "They... They turned. I don't think they saw us. My legs hurt..."
Kael let out what felt like the longest breath ever. Slowly, his vision cleared. Had fear clouded it more than pain? Perhaps, but finally they were safe... Just deal with Jorgen and sleep.
He stretched his blanket-wrapped arm toward Els. "Tie the bastard while he can't move. And shove something in his accursed mouth."
His gaze fell on the blood smearing Els' torn pants, then his own. Though it wasn't a competition, his every limb stung much more than Els' did. He wouldn't let her use her truth to fix herself. Not with two baskets filled with medicine. "Treat yourself and check on Tonio."
Els crouched to him. With a trembling hand, she untied two blankets, but didn't leave. Instead, she reached for his right cheek. Her fingers traced his pierced lips and sweaty face gently. "You?"
"I'll manage. We don't have time. Go."
She held his gaze for another heartbeat, then nodded as she returned to Tonio.
"It's your fault, idiot." She plunged her hand beneath Tonio's chest, gripping Jorgen's forearm. With a twist, she forced it behind the teenager's back. "I swear on Kraghor's name, I'll break your arm if you resist. Look at you! An errand boy for the black cask."
"I'll climb to higher positions! Aaah!"
Els twisted Jorgen's other arm hard enough for him to wail. As she tied them, her voice dripped with spite. "Enjoy until they throw your corpse down the burial pit."
"You'll see who'll end there first. I'm not dying for the Black Cask or anyone—mmph."
A bandage lay beside her. She bundled and stuffed it into Jorgen's mouth before tying it off with the second blanket.
Dusting her hands as if she had just treated a terminally infected patient, she focused on Tonio.
"Can you stand?" She nudged his back, and for a moment, Kael thought Tonio might be out cold.
"Mhh... Tired. Where meat?" Tonio mumbled.
"I'll cook the best you've ever eaten later, but we need to move." She rubbed the back of his ear, and he smiled.
"Promise." He coughed as he pushed himself off the ground.
Beneath him, Jorgen lifted his head. If glares could kill, Kael didn't doubt they would all be dead. Didn't matter. Jorgen's wasn't an issue anymore. More important was Tonio's condition.
"How do you feel?"
"Bad." Tonio slammed his back against the low wall. Even as his face contorted in a grimace, he kept one of his feet pressed on Jorgen's back.
"We all do. On the bright side, Els can help me walk from here, so no more carrying." Kael closed his eyes, his lips curving. "Thank you for never doubting me."
When he reopened his eyes, Tonio smiled back at him. "Trust Kael. Smart like Giovanni. Together survive."
"Well, I doubted you every second, you mad blasphemer. Cursing the gods so much must have screwed your brain. I'm sure they filled it with steam." Els clicked her tongue as she applied ointment to her legs. She added leaves of medicinal herbs before bandaging them over her wounds like someone who had no idea what they were doing, but did it anyway.
After a deep breath, she locked her green, watery eyes onto Kael. They softened, and beneath the care, traces of admiration shone through. "I still can't believe you got us out."
"We can do it all over again if you want to be sure." Kael pursed his lips.
"Tonio no do it again!"
Kael and Els glanced at Tonio, then at each other. They chuckled until their shoulders relaxed and tears trailed down the corners of their eyes.
"I'm sure he's somewhat serious. That's the worst." Els slapped the ground.
"Of course, I'm not planning to do this again anytime soon. Or ever for that matter. Let's keep moving, though. Don't let Jorgen escape, Tonio."
Kael used the wall to rise. Els gathered the medicinal products back into the baskets before supporting him. Tonio joined them, a hand on Jorgen's shoulder, his eyes narrowed.
A quick peek toward the archers. They still monitored the beggar street. They could leave.
They wobbled into the street. Slow. Wounded. Free. Well, not entirely.
A corner saw them disappear into another one, then a winding alley. No one saw them or left the warmth of their beds this early, and whoever did knew better than to wander out so close to the gang war.
Tonio shoved Jorgen against the wall by the neck. The teenager tried to scream, but only managed muffled sounds lost in the morning hush.
Kael sat on a junk crate welded to the ground. "You should have died beside Clove and Bram in the war."
Jorgen's eyes widened.
"You get it. I've seen everything from inside. We're alike—we both want to survive. So why didn't you look the other way? You should have ignored anything unrelated to you. Was it for a quick raise or to prove your loyalty? You know the answer better than I do."
Kael sighed. "And since we're alike, you know what survival demands."
Jorgen dropped to his knees and smacked his forehead on the pavement. Tears trailed down his cheeks as he tried to beg through the gag that muted him.
Beside Kael, Els shivered. "Wait... you mean?" She moved in front of him, her fists planted on her hips. "No, Kael."
"He saw us." Kael shrugged.
"Remember? Almost everyone we knew died. We can't kill one of them." Els cupped his face. Her fingers twitched.
But Kael's eyes never left Jorgen, never showed pity or remorse. "Would you like it better if we killed him after he reports us to Silma? Do you want us to be cornered again, to doubt we'd survive every second? Trust me. There is no surviving a targeted hunt from the Black Cask. You know it. Jorgen knows it. Everyone does in the slums."
Before Els could come up with an emotional rebuttal, he tilted his head past her. Did he have other options? Maybe. Were any of them safe? Certainly not. After all, silver bought hearts, and Jorgen's heart was hungry for shiny crowns. He wasn't debating; his trust was reserved for Els and Tonio.
He had made his decision the moment Jorgen saw them.
"Nothing personal. Kill him. Like a dog bit his neck."
Tonio didn't give anyone time to react. He pulled Jorgen's head from the ground. The teenager's eyes pleaded for a mercy no one would grant him.
Ten nails jabbed into his neck. Blood sprayed to the ground, and he collapsed. He glared at Kael. Was he cursing him using the names of the eight bastards, or wishing he would soon join him? Irrelevant. The threat had been dealt with.
Els watched Jorgen bleed out, then closed her eyes and turned her head aside. "I understand. I truly do. It's just... hard to accept."
She sobbed silently, and Kael brought her into a hug and patted her back. He didn't talk. Didn't need to. She knew they never really had a choice, and only grieved the necessity.
Tonio joined the hug. For a moment, they shared their warmth, sadness, and exhaustion. Then, Els pulled back.
With a nod, she cut Jorgen's restraints. She threw a clean roll of bandages and a can of ointment at Tonio before upturning the baskets beside Jorgen.
Ambushed by a stray dog while carrying supplies for the Black Cask. The missing dagger bothered Kael, but who didn't drop items in their rush? At least, it was more plausible than believing three people avoided the notice of seventy men spread across three streets in the middle of a war.
As blood smeared the alley crimson, she whispered. "Let's leave."
"Ay. We deserve a good rest." Tonio helped Kael down the junk crate, and together they vanished into the labyrinthine streets of Ashcoil Row's neighborhood.
***
As they carved their way to a resting place, Old Fen rose from his chair inside his breached tannery. Footsteps echoed from the ground floor. Slow by design. Dismissive in their mocking finality.
Most of his men screamed for the last time, and those remaining would soon. Yet, he smirked beneath his mottled beard.