Ferran's Map (24 page)

Then the assassin released a bloodcurdling
scream.

Sora shielded her eyes with her arm and
averted her gaze from the stone’s brilliant light. The scream
continued, perhaps the most excruciating sound she had ever heard.
She covered her ears with her hands and clamped her teeth together,
willing it to stop. But the shriek went on and on.

The sunstone grew brighter, until the forest
seemed filled by summery daylight, at odds with the heavy,
storm-laden sky. Then the light dimmed. The woman’s voice hitched
and weakened as she went limp.

Caprion ripped the mask from the woman’s
face, but Sora couldn’t see much at this distance. She kept to the
line of trees at the edge of the clearing, waiting for more
assassins to appear. A silent minute passed before she forced
herself to stand up, grimacing from the pain in her arm.

She stepped cautiously through the tall
weeds and tangled vines, past Caprion, to the fallen assassin’s
side. Then she stared in surprise. The woman was…
young,
only
a few years older than herself. And yet something seemed strange
about her face. Long scars crossed vertically through each of her
closed eyes, trailing down her cheeks like teardrops. A disgusting
patch of shiny, wrinkled skin warped the side of her neck and
jaw.

Sora gasped softly and placed a hand over
her mouth. She blinked away the gruesome scars, shaken. When she
looked back at the assassin, the woman’s face appeared flawless and
smooth. The scars seemed to have instantly vanished. She stared in
confusion, wondering that was all about.

Caprion knelt by the woman’s side and placed
one hand on her shoulder, inspecting the work of the sunstone,
which was now lodged at the base of the woman’s throat. Sora caught
a glimpse of blistered, angry flesh. She grimaced and looked away
again.

She saw a familiar figure at the edge of the
clearing. Crash came to a full stop when he saw the female assassin
lying on the ground. Sora watched his face, looking for any sign of
pity or empathy toward his own race—but his eyes remained cold and
distant.

She started toward him, wincing as she
jolted her arm. He met her halfway across the small glen. His eyes
searched her thoroughly, then a wry smile twisted his lips. Without
a word, he gently gripped her arm and guided it up until the bone
slid back into place. Sora gritted her teeth the whole time, the
fingers of her good hand digging into his shirt against the
pain.

She felt a sudden pop as her shoulder slid
into position. The pain flared, then lessened to a dull throb. She
sighed. She had first dislocated that shoulder on the Lost Isles,
and once more aboard the
Dawn Seeker
while climbing the
rigging on a particularly windy day. She knew it would always be a
weak point.

Crash ripped a piece of cloth from his cloak
and helped her bind the arm in a makeshift sling. Then Sora turned
back to the female assassin on the ground. Caprion still knelt next
to her, taking her weapons.

“Why would they come for me?” she asked
Crash softly. She touched the brown bag hidden beneath her cloak.
“I thought they wanted the sacred weapons, but they didn’t know I
carried them.”

Crash’s face remained grim, his thoughts
withdrawn. “We’re about to find out,” he said darkly. Then he
approached the female assassin at the center of the clearing.

Caprion had finished disarming the woman and
stood over her prone body. Sora watched the Harpy closely. She
couldn’t figure out his expression, but it wasn’t hostile. It
was….

“Do you know her?” she asked, though she
wasn't sure why.

He looked at her with a glimmer of surprise.
“No,” he said briefly, then met Crash’s gaze. After an awkward
moment, he said, “She’s from your race. What do you suggest we do
with her?”

“Take her back to the ship,” Crash said
without hesitation. “Interrogate her.”

“We should move her before the other
assassins reach us,” Caprion said.

“I cut them down in the forest,” Crash
murmured, still inspecting the woman.

“What if more come?” Sora asserted. “They’ll
try to rescue her.”

“No, they won’t,” Crash replied.

She gave him a questioning look.

“She’s expendable,” he said flatly. “She’s
not important enough for the Shade to risk losing more men. But we
can certainly use her in the meantime.”

Sora hesitated. She didn’t like the casual
way he spoke of the woman’s pending interrogation. But they didn’t
have much choice—through their prisoner, they could finally find
out more about the Shade. She chewed her lip in thought. Caprion
would have to fly their new captive back to the ship directly. They
probably shouldn’t accompany him because four floating figures in
the sky would draw far too much attention, and with the Shade
already aware of their presence….

“Where’s Burn?” Sora thought to ask, looking
around the forest. She suddenly remembered him lying prone on the
hillside. “Is he all right?”

Crash hesitated. “He’s gone.”

Sora blinked. “What?”

“The Shade has him.”

Sora felt all her breath leave at once. She
stared at the assassin, stunned.

“He fell through one of their portals,”
Crash explained. “I don’t know where….” His eyes focused again on
the female assassin, who wheezed softly on the ground. “But I think
we’ll know very soon.”

Suddenly Sora understood his coldness—his
anger. She stared at Crash speechlessly, allowing the full impact
of his words to settle on her. Burn, taken by the Shade? He was in
mortal danger.
Or dead already,
she thought, with a
sickening cramp in her stomach.

She abruptly grabbed the front of Crash’s
cloak. “Can’t you follow them?” she demanded. “Work some magic
spell and open another portal? We can’t waste another second!”

Crash let her hang onto his cloak for a
moment, then he firmly shoved her off. “It was out of my control!”
he snapped. “I can’t follow them. I’m not skilled enough. I’m
not….”

Sora shook her head. “We have to do
something,” she said. “Isn’t there some way?”

Crash indicated the female assassin. “She’ll
have to tell us where he is,” he repeated.

“What if she won’t tell us?”

“Oh, she will,” Caprion answered. He stood
up, lifting the woman in his arms. “We’re not far from the docks.
Shall I come back and get you?”

Crash shook his head. “Too obvious. The
Shade know we travel with a Harpy. They’ll be watching the skies to
see where we take her.” Then, after a pause, he announced, “We’ll
walk.”

Sora wanted to groan in frustration. What a
horrible waste of time! She wanted to protest, but she already knew
Crash’s argument, and it seemed that Caprion agreed. They would be
of no help to Burn if they were captured as well, and another
attack from the Shade could be disastrous. What if the Shade came
back for the sacred weapons?

“At least allow me to transport you to the
city gates,” Caprion said, his eyes sweeping the forest. “The Shade
might already have an ambush in place.”

Crash relented, tucking the various whips
and knives under his cloak. He hooked the long bullwhip to his
belt. Then, with a few motions of his hand, Caprion’s white light
surrounded them. Sora felt a familiar sensation of vertigo as she
was lifted into the sky.

Caprion kept low to the shelter of the
treetops until he reached the wide hills, then glided smoothly
downward like a kite. Sora scanned the ground continually; she
didn’t think they had been seen. He deposited them on the outer
wall of the city and made his farewells, then transported their
prisoner away over the rooftops.

Crash and Sora found a staircase leading
down the other side of the wall to a narrow, winding alley. This
district of Crowns belonged to the lower class. The streets were
dirty and uneven. Cracked windows and chipped paint marred the low
stone buildings. She caught a vague glimpse of the Temple of the
North Wind, though it was half-obscured by drizzling rain and mist.
The clouds seemed heavier and lower than before.

They walked for a good while in silence,
Crash slightly ahead of her, his eyes endlessly scanning the road
and the decrepit buildings. He pulled his hood up as a light
drizzle of rain began to fall. People averted their eyes and
hurried their steps when he passed. Sora knew why; he looked fierce
and dangerous, his stride full of purpose. He was more intimidating
than anyone who might emerge from an alley.

Details of their fight with the Shade ran
through her head. Cobra spoke to Crash as though they knew each
other.
I thought you preferred the older, more experienced
types—or perhaps a fiery redhead?
Even the female assassin had
addressed him with some familiarity. Her nagging thoughts left her
troubled.

The narrow side streets eventually connected
to larger thoroughfares. Sora reached Crash’s side and asked him,
“Did you know those assassins?”

Crash’s green eyes shifted to her briefly.
His expression became guarded.

Of course,
she thought. “Tell me,”
she insisted.

“They know
of
me,” he answered,
emphasizing his words. “But I don’t know them.”

Sora’s frown deepened. “Why do they know of
you?” she pressed. “Did you have dealings with the Shade?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, then fell
silent as they passed a series of street vendors. The crowd
thickened, then dispersed. “I didn’t know about the Shade until you
did. You’re beginning to sound like Caprion.”

“Well, maybe for good reason,” Sora said
firmly. “I think you’re hiding something.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I can tell when you’re lying,” she
pressed.

“Can you?” he mused.

Something about his tone made her feel
terribly self-conscious. Sora looked away, but she trusted her gut.
She felt certain he was keeping something from her, so she tried
again.

“Cobra said you prefer redheads?” she asked.
“Was that sarcasm…?”

“Perhaps,” Crash responded dryly. “That
comment was more for you than me. He was trying to get under your
skin. Don’t let him.”

Sora balked at that. “It doesn’t bother me!”
she insisted as her cheeks flushed. “But he acted so familiar
toward you….”

Crash paused and caught her hand. He looked
at her sternly. “I’m not part of the Shade, Sora. And I don’t have
a fondness for redheads.”

Sora didn’t think she could blush any
harder. “I know,” she admitted.

“Then what’s this about?”

“Just a terrible feeling that you know more
than you’re letting on,” she muttered.

Crash considered her for a moment, then
released a long sigh. Unexpectedly, he swung his arm around her
shoulders. Sora walked next to him, surprised. His heat enveloped
her against the cold, and his cloak shielded her from the windy
gusts of rain.

“Don’t let a stranger’s words shake your
trust, Sora,” he said. His jaw brushed the top of her head as they
walked. She shivered at their contact. “And…” he continued slowly,
“I need that trust, now that Caprion and half the Dracian crew look
at me askance.”

“They hate you,” Sora agreed.

“I know.”

“Perhaps because you threw Tristan off the
boat.”

His voice was amused. “You heard of
that?”

“It’s a large boat, but not that large,”
Sora said, quoting Burn from the beginning of their journey. Then
she grimaced. “I hope Burn is still alive. We have to find him.
Perhaps Caprion can search the city for the Shade’s hideout….”

“I doubt he’ll find it from above,” Crash
muttered, “and I’m sure he’d rather watch me instead.”

Sora didn’t expect those words. Her mouth
twisted stubbornly. “Caprion isn’t against you. He helped us escape
the Matriarch—”

Crash cut her off. “Caprion is still in
league with the Matriarch. He suspects I’ll lead him to the Shade,
mostly because they’re my own kind.”

Sora paused.
That doesn’t make sense,
she thought. Why would Caprion go to all the trouble of rescuing
them from the Lost Isles, if he was still beholden to his
queen?

She raised a skeptical brow. “Even if that
were true,” she conceded, “what could he possibly do against the
Shade? Singlehandedly kill them all?"

Crash’s eyes darkened. “I assume he plans to
take out the Shade’s leader. He’s a seraph, after all.”

Sora considered it. Seraphim were bred for
war—built to hunt demons. Still, Caprion hadn’t mentioned any plan
to root out the Shade on his own. He had been friendly, if quiet,
since leaving the Lost Isles. He helped around the ship where
needed and kept to his own business.
Perhaps he’s a little too
quiet,
she thought. At times, he acted strange. He would fly
away from the
Dawn Seeker
and return at odd intervals. Could
he still be in contact with the Matriarch?

She considered the sunstone Caprion used on
the woman in the woods; he had disabled her with hardly a struggle.
He knew how to waylay an assassin.

Slowly, she said, “He seems dangerous,
Crash.”

“He is,” Crash agreed. They turned down
Tourmaline Street, an old and winding avenue that continued toward
the docks. The drizzle thickened to a steady rain, and they tried
to keep to the overhang of buildings, though Sora was already
drenched.

Crash picked up a piece of wood from an
alley and held it over their heads for shelter. They made better
time as the weather worsened and the streets cleared. Finally, he
flagged down a public coach.

“To the south docks,” he said as he passed a
few coppers into the man’s hand.

Sora didn’t say so, but she was relieved to
be out of the rain, even if the carriage smelled like musty cigar
smoke and mothballs. The coach was uncomfortably cramped. They sat
face-to-face, their knees touching. She spent a minute adjusting
for more room, then gave up.