It has to be. He’s come this far.
We’re almost done. Just one more relic, and then the unbinding. You can wallow in sentiment when everything’s over.
He takes a handful of salt from the pot on the mantle and tosses it into the fire. “Hearts of the fire, get me Coira or Melanne. Whoever’s closest.” The flames surge upwards, flashing bright blue with his magic before settling into a friendly yellow. He sits back on the bench and waits until the flames flare white.
A familiar voice emits from the blaze. “Where the fuck have you been, boss?”
That’s definitely Coira. Her older sister never swears at him. There’s a four-year age difference between them, but they look similar enough to pass as twins like the gods they serve. Until Coira opens her mouth.
“I’ve been doing my job and drawing heat so the rest of you can sit back and relax,” Ronan answers. His shoulders ease at the sound of her voice. He hasn’t been able to contact any of the Locksmiths since he was captured. “Are there any emergencies?”
“None on our end,” Coira says. “Unless you count Leth trying to cook last week, which was a fucking disaster. He used enough salt to pickle my grandfather. Where are you?”
“Marrick safe house, and I need transportation. Where are you and Melanne?”
“Marrick, that’s perfect. Melanne’s at base, and I can get to Marrick in about a day.”
Transportation is why he recruited the sisters in the first place—plus their family ties to Ostaris. With their connection to the flames and each other, whenever they’re separated, they can use fire to teleport to the other’s side, and bring along a few passengers. He just needs to reunite with Coira, and he can step back to base in a flash.
“Great, let’s meet…” Ronan looks around, frowning. His original thought was for her to meet them here, so they could leave town without setting foot outside the safe house again. He’s having second thoughts now. Coira’s magic isn’ttooflashy, but it might be flashy enough to draw attention with so many paladins crawling around. He doesn’t want to compromise this safe house—or the tailor’s safety. “Let’s meet at the crossroads just east of Marrick, past the river.”
“The one with the statue of Ka Dravos looking like a complete asshole?”
Now that she’s said it, he can’t think of any other way to describe the statue. “How soon can you get there? I’ll try to arrive after you.” He’d rather not hang around in the woods with his hostage for too long.
“I’ll be there by noon tomorrow. Don’t make me wait all day, boss.”
“No promises.” He laughs when she grumbles. “Oh, and one more thing. I won’t be alone.”
“Oh?” Her voice sharpens in interest. “Did you find a new recruit?”
He thinks of the young squire bound and gagged in the basement. “Something like that.”
?
CHAPTER FIVE
KARIS
Every time Karis moves, every time he breathes, he’s aware of the coarse rope snug against his wrists. He sits hunched over on the edge of the cot and tries to process his current situation. His hands are fine for now. His mouth is gross and dry around the gag, and a bit of his hair is caught in the binding around his head.
He should probably try to escape while his captor is upstairs. Just because Ronan hasn’t killed him yet doesn’t mean he won’t. But first, Karis closes his eyes, calms his breathing, and focuses on a silent conversation. The gag can’t stop him from talking to Vara.
Are you around? Hello? I could use some divine intervention down here.
The response is a little quieter, a little more sympathetic than usual.You’ll need to be brave.A kind rejection, but a rejection nonetheless.
Help me cast a ward spell,Karis thinks anyway.Or some sort of flare to attract attention?Since he hasn’t graduated training yet, he needs Vara’s direct help for most spells. He doesn’t have an official contract with Vara yet, just… whatever this connection is.
Vara sighs.The thief took your earring already. Do you want him to know you don’t need it?
That won’t matter if I’ve already escaped!Wrinkling his nose, Karis wiggles his tongue to a more comfortable position under the gag.If the other paladins knew how useless you are, they’d quit worshipping you and run away to become farmers.
They’d be even more disappointed as farmers.Vara sounds smug.Maiza has never been more useful than me.
Even if Vara is being extremely unhelpful, Karis’s nerves still ease with the conversation. He used to resent the voice in his head—the voice that made him different—but it’s nice never being alone.
Tilting his head, Karis contemplates the ordinary furnishings of his prison. There’s a small table with three rickety stools. Barrels and boxes. No windows. Maybe it’s time to go for easier questions.How long was I really asleep, by the way?