chapter forty-nine

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It was the kind of terror that shot ice down veins, making spines straighten and hair stand on end.

"We have to get off this bloody thing." Kath's voice was shrill.

"No shit," Leo remarked from beneath them. She whipped down to face him, anger flashing. "If you have a plan to get us out of here then by all means, speak up!" The girl's foot slid down the wall. Unfortunately, they had stopped at a smoother section, where she was struggling to find a permanent hold. Her throat bobbed as she found an awkward higher hold and wedged her foot inside.

"Calm down and let's think." Tristan intoned.

"Calm down? Tristan, I'm dangling from a rope relying on my upper body strength in a fucking ballgown!" She spat, huffing at the two boys. Perhaps Elle had rubbed off on the woman. The last thing he needed was another witty member of the team.

Craning out, he spied the next ledge a little way above. "I'm going to move."

Leo immediately called up, "You'll move the line, Tristan. If this doesn't work it'll wear the rope down even more and lose us precious minutes!"

"I know!" He practically roared back, "I know."

Facing the intimidating climb and the fraying rope, Tristan edged upwards. His friends below hung in dead silence. He didn't dare breathe. Little by little, the ledge grew closer. A little to his right, if he turned his head he could almost peer over the lip. He tried to lean out just a bit...

The rope shuddered.

Kath's panicked voice floated up to him. "Can you reach the ledge?"

The lip was a good arm's stretch above. Tristan grunted, "I'll need to swing."

Her protests fell on deaf ears. The assassin imagined the leap, the rush, the possible fall. He sent a prayer to whoever might care. Time seemed to slow and all he could sense was the thump of his heart. With another short breath Tristan bit his lip, pried his stiff fingers off the rope and let go.

He sailed through the air for a second, arms extended above his head. Suddenly his fingers gripped the rough edge and his body slammed into the wall. With an almighty grunt, he tried to swing his leg over. Rocks loosened and dislodged. He still dangled over the Vault. Swinging again, the assassin managed to haul himself over and flip onto his back.

"Tristan?" Leo's voice echoed.

"Are you alright? Is it safe?" Kath's voice quickly followed.

Tristan examined the ledge for any DETRA personnel, finding it empty. He rolled onto his stomach and looked down at the swinging pair. "It is of no importance whether it is safe. This is the only option. Climb up as I did, then swing." His commanding tone left no room for protest.

As Kath began her climb Leo remained underneath her, murmuring encouragements that didn't reach Tristan's ears. The rope whined with every movement. When she did jump, it all happened slowly. Tristan had his hands ready to grab her wrists if she missed the ledge. One moment she was in the air, fingers outstretched and her pink skirts billowing behind her in their layers of tulle and silk. The next, she slammed into the ledge.

Tristan grasped her wrists, attempting to haul her over. "Gods," he panted. "How heavy can one dress be?"

After a strangled sound of frustration after trying to pull her by the arms, he gripped the back of her bodice, bunching the material and yanking upwards. She got over the ledge, but as she straightened up her eyes flashed with annoyance. Kath twisted to touch her back and found both bodice and corset were ripped.

"What?" Tristan raised his palms in defence. "Would you have rather I let you fall?"

"That was my only decent corset." She hissed.

"You packed a corset with you in your saddlebag?"

"It's called preparation," she waved off his disbelief. "It's no good now, since somebody has ripped it!"

Tristan held up a hand to her grumblings and peered over again, watching as Leo's coppery mop inched closer. Voices and silvery laughter sounded from well beneath them. The party-goers hadn't discovered the guard's body yet but it was only a matter of time before they rounded the corner.

Both Kath and Tristan froze when a series of pings twanged above their heads. The rope's strands were snapping. "Stop!" Tristan threw out a hand to Leo, stilling him.

"The ropes not going to hold him for much longer." Kath clapped a hand over her mouth, watching on in horror.

"Leo." He spoke clearly. "You're going to have to slide down to the nearest floor below with a balcony or overhang that you can land or swing on to."

"That's lunacy! It's so far down! I've come this far, I can just—" Leo shuffled up another few steps and the rope frayed further, strands snapping faster.

'No!' They both cried, surging forwards a step.

The rope shook. "Am I really that fat?" Leo's attempt at a joke didn't induce a smile from the pair above.

"These ropes are old. How they haven't been replaced, I don't know." Kath muttered, hiking her dress up then raised her voice. "Now go! Your best hope is to slide down as quickly as you can."

Tristan peeled off his gloves and balled them into a small knot as she spoke. A carefully aimed throw and Leo reached out and caught them. "Find your way to the Heir's chambers or we'll meet you at the entrance. Good luck," Tristan added as an afterthought.

Leo saluted them with a watery smile, pulling on the gloves. One moment they saw the coppery mess of hair, then he loosed his grip and allowed himself to almost fall down the long cable.

"Is he going to make it in time?" Kath's brows drew together.

The final twists of the rope creaked as Leo made his speedy descent. He was racing against time. But Tristan and Kath couldn't wait around for another minute to witness his fate. "We have to go," Tristan steered Kath away from the edge.

"I know," she whispered.

"He's Leo. The bastard's lucky—I've seen him play cards. He'll be just fine."

Their bare feet padded on the stone as they jogged, looking for a staircase to the upper levels or an actual working lift. Tristan unsheathed his sword. Light bounced off the metal and onto the walls of the darkened hallways. Kath had her hands on her own weapon, eyeing the walls suspiciously, as if one of the painted portraits might jump them and slit their throats before they even had time to scream.

The assassin sped up her pace. Tristan was all too happy to match it. They were almost home.

#

Cerid had handed Elle a piece of sweet smelling fruit. She rolled it between her fingers instead of putting it to her lips. Her stomach churned too much to think about eating. "You told me that you would leave DETRA, if you could." Her eyes snapped up to his.

"Wouldn't that be nice," he smirked, taking a bite of his fruit.

She stood from the lounger. "If I said we had to leave tonight with no warning would you still do it?"

This went against the mission. a small, niggling thought in the back of her mind that had plagued the assassin for days. Who would she choose? Love or loyalty? Cerid or the Order?

Maybe she was selfish for wanting both.

While the Order took a lifetime to arrive, she had asked Cerid to flick through one of his forbidden books on dragonstone. The victim didn't need to be killed to open the safe. It only took a certain amount of blood. Elle's knees had almost buckled and she had to reread those lines a few times before they sunk in. Cerid could survive! They could bring him with them and it would be how she could repay him somewhat.

He looked confused. "I would love to believe that I can get away. But we both know that no one can ever be free! We can be smart, dream, even escape — but freedom is a price few can afford to pay."

"Are you saying you're too much of a coward to escape, when it really comes down to it?" She was hurt, more than hurt. All her plans were falling apart. "I can save you from DETRA. They manipulate and harm!"

"We don't manipulate!" He retorted.

"And what about your dreams of living a simpler life? Being able to visit all the bookstores you want and spend your days content with a wage and a roof over your head?" Elle crossed her eyes, her tone harsh.

"Clearly, I'm not as seditious as you. I cannot turn my back on those I love and abandon my loyalties at the drop of a hat just because you say I should!"

His words stung. Her face might have said as much because Cerid put down his fruit and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, stroking her hair.

"You wouldn't come with me? I thought you were braver than that." Elle said simply, but didn't extract herself from his hold.

He rested his chin atop her head. "Perhaps you're right and I am cowardly. This is my home, where my family is, where I have duties."

"I thought you hated the pressure of being a Blackwood."

"Oh, I do. But just because I dislike my position doesn't mean I can shirk my duties. People count on me." Cerid sighed sadly, then admitted in a small voice. "I wish I could. Run away, leave everything behind and just go. Start a new life I've been dreaming of and drawing pictures of since I was seven."

"That's sad that you'll spend your entire life enslaved to running DETRA."

Elle felt his shoulders lift and sag again as he shrugged. "If I think about the years ahead it will make me sad." She couldn't bare the thought of him having to solidify the Blackwood line, attend meetings and events, ruling DETRA's horrific attacks. Killing innocents.

Maybe she was traitorous and disloyal but Elle knew a lot about desire. How it eats a person up from inside. There was no mistaking that Cerid wished for a different life, but the golden boy was encased in stone shackles. He didn't know it yet, but all he needed was a fiery assassin to smash them to pieces.

From her position she had a perfect view over his shoulder to the door beyond. The ornate brass handle as it turned. She screwed her eyes shut as tears stung her eyes and held the Imperial Heir closer, inhaling his musk. It was time. Elle tried to find the words, any words to tell him but she could only choke out two words.

"I'm sorry."

Cerid's reply was drowned out by the doors slamming open. Elle spun out of his embrace, unsheathing Ravaryn from the hold in her thigh. He knew he was outnumbered. The Heir slowly lifted his hands above his head, nostrils flaring. What hurt most was the disbelief in his eyes as he connected the dots.

"Does he have any weapons on him?" Tristan gruffed.

"Just this." Cerid growled, drawing his own sword just before Tristan's blade swung to cleave his head in two. Their blades met.

Kath was looking worse for wear with her dress in tatters. Elle was shoved backwards as the pink-haired nymph joined the fight. Cerid had faced worse odds than two enraged assassins.

Kath was kicked in the stomach and she stumbled back, releasing a soft oof. The Imperial Heir wielded his sword like an extension to his own arm, a fury boiling underneath his skin leading every move. Once he calmed down some, Elle noted that his strikes grew more precise.

When Tristan's head slammed into a marble unit with a horrific thud, Elle made a small sound. She extended a hand to Kath and pulled the assassin to her feet. "Don't kill him," she said quickly. Confusion flashed in Kath's eyes. Confusion, swiftly followed by a dawning understanding.

She ripped her hand away. "We need his blood."

Charging with her knife raised, Kath pounced. The man spun out of the way of a knife to his back. Elle loosed a relieving sigh. The room seemed to throb with her every move, her injuries aching more than they had in days. Once more her lungs were on fire and her stupid boot wasn't exactly manoeuvrable. All she could do was watch. 

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