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The Last Sin
The Cursed Lands Part 38

The Cursed Lands Part 38

Arwen screwed up his face as he looked at each of us.

“Are you serious?”

"Only for a few hours. We’ll untie you when we're somewhere safe."

Arwen looked down at the table, working something out behind his eyes.

"Eric, get me some paper, a quill and ink."

“Boss, ya can’t be thinking of-“

“Eric. We're losing the light.”

He huffed.

"Right away, boss."

Eric walked behind the partition, talking to the girl who served us tea. A few moments later, he returned with what Arwen had asked.

Arwen scribbled out a quick message before handing it to the young guard.

"Take that letter to the Council. I'll be going with our new friends here."

He stood up, readjusting his coat.

"Alone, boss? I could come. Maybe I got kidnapped, too," his larger guard said.

"Then who will watch the children, Carson? The Lagos brothers know about the daycare now. We need to take precautions.”

Arwen looked at each of us with open, honest eyes.

“Besides, I trust them.”

That made one of us.

"One more thing. We'll need to make the kidnapping look real."

The rest of the party turned to me.

"What do you mean?" Isla asked.

Arwen stood straighter.

"Alright, what do you suggest?"

I walked over to the balding man. His once handsome face had aged like distressed leather, the tan skin rough and creased with wrinkles. Yet, his hazel eyes were still young and hopeful.

So that’s where I punched him.

His head snapped back, throwing the rest of his body off balance as he toppled to the ground.

I rode a wave of satisfaction from watching his limp body fall on the floor.

That’s what you get for ruining my plans.

Isla and Eric gasped. Carson pulled his metal club free and stepped forward.

"Wait! Wait, Carson."

The large man stopped mid-stride.

"But Arwen..."

Arwen sat up, running a hand over the back of his head to check for bleeding.

"I'm ready to go if you are."

Stubborn, old fool.

"Jacob!"

Castille's hand rammed into my shoulder, spinning me around to face her hard, grey eyes.

"What's wrong with you?! You could have killed him from that fall!"

I frowned.

"It needed to be convincing."

Castille clenched her jaw.

"If we can't trust you, this all falls apart—this party—this quest and any chance you have of getting the Sanctifiers off your neck. Do you understand me? No more screwups from you. No more mistakes."

"I didn't make a mistake."

She stared at me for a long moment before pushing me away.

"You ride in the back. Stay away from Arwen."

I scowled, fixing my coat and leaving the building.

I didn't make a mistake.

# # #

We rode back to the Pit in silence, with our prisoner bound and riding behind Castille on horseback. For a change, I wasn’t the one getting strange looks in our party. We needed to make a show of Arwen’s capture to buy time with the Lagos brothers, but that came with risks. Arwen was well-known and well-liked among the people, and his capture would only increase Steeltown's growing anger toward us—towards me. By the end of the day, the rumours would spread—the “elf” who burned all the food was now kidnapping Steeltowners out of their workshops.

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I sighed.

I was a stereotype. The kind of elf parents used in stories to scare their kids. The kind of elf from Mr. Reeves’ history books. So be it. They didn’t have to like me. Do I even like me?

Cassandra's face blanched when Castille pushed the bruised cartel leader through the door of the Pit. Poor woman. She must have regretted the day she set eyes on us.

"What are you doing?! That's one of Tiny Tom's men!"

"We're holding him for the Sanctifiers," I said.

"The Sanctifiers are right across the street! Why didn't you drop him off there?"

OK. Not my best lie.

She shook her head.

"No… No… This is too much… Tell me what's going on or get out of my establishment."

“Wait. I can explain-“

"Cass..."

I turned to Castille as she loosened Arwen's bindings.

"We’ll tell you everything."

# # #

Cassandra and Arwen drank shots of whiskey at the empty bar. The Pit was closed today. The door was barred shut with a wooden crossbeam. The girls were told to stay in their rooms. We turned the dining area into a staging ground for tonight's expedition. At the tables, Castille prepared our backpacks with two days' worth of supplies and checked her equipment. Dugan was upstairs with Thor while Isla and I rested on top of bedrolls in the corner, conserving our will. We needed to be ready to leave as soon as Arwen got word from his cartel’s Council.

"I can't believe you lied to me," Cassandra said, her head swaying as she talked.

Castille refastened her right bracer and smiled at the red-haired woman.

“You got tricked by a pretty face."

"I know! The irony."

She reached for her shot glass, knocked it over and spilled alcohol over the countertop."

"Are you going to drink that? Cause if you don’t, I will," Arwen said.

"You better be sober enough to lead us through those mines, farmer."

"Oh, I will be. I know those mines like the back of my hand."

Arwen looked down at his hands and frowned.

"They're in high spirits," Isla whispered to me.

“Uhuh.”

I tried to block them out, pushing all distractions out of my mind so I could focus on what mattered.

Utility. Misdirection… Ruthlessness.

How long had it been since I said these words to myself? The further I travelled from the capital, the easier it became to forget who I was. What I needed to be. Tonight, we were going to hunt for Nostrand Del, and I would need all of Sin’s lessons just to survive.

I took a deep breath, calming the anxious pit in my stomach.

I am the hunter, not the hunted.

"Jacob? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

“You don’t look fine.”

She paused; lips pressed together in a thin line as she considered her next words.

"Why did you punch Arwen?”

“I told you. The kidnapping needed to be convincing.”

“Tying him up would have been convincing enough for our cover."

I rolled to my side, putting my back to her. She continued.

"You should apologize to him. He's helping us."

"He made me angry," I whispered.

"Why?"

A chill ran through me. I wrapped my arms around myself.

"He’s weak."

"He’s kind, Jacob. Kindness isn’t weakness."

Images of Mr. Reeves flashed in my mind.

"What’s the difference?”

Castille's head jerked up from where she sat at the tables. She looked at the Pit’s entrance with narrowed eyes.

"Everyone! Quiet."

Cassandra and Arwen’s mouths clamped shut. They stared wide-eyed at the door.

Leather soles scrapped against gravel. Heavy footsteps stomped up the wooden stairs that led to the entrance. The footfalls stopped. The silence lingered.

I got up in a crouch, picked up my cane lying next to me and twisted out my short sword.

Above us, the stairs creaked as Dugan appeared with his axe in hand, once again dressed in his worn leather armour.

He passed a look to Castille, who slid her long sword out of the scabbard and walked up to the curtained windows.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Who's there?" Castille asked.

"Eric! We met at the daycare."

"Come in. Just you—no one else."

Castille kicked out the crossbeam across the door, readying her sword for a downward swing at the first person to cross the threshold.

Eric burst through the doors. He paused and gaped at Castille on his left.

"Well, come in," Castille said.

He nodded, running past the woman to hand Arwen a scrap of paper he pulled from his pocket.

Castille closed the doors. Dugan walked down the fleet of stairs to help Castille put the crossbeam back in place.

"Dugan, how's Thor?"

Dugan shook his head as he walked to the bar with Castille.

So, he was still sleeping. His trick with Dugan had downsides.

Isla and I walked to the bar as Arwen finished reading the message. He stared at the countertop, scratching his chin.

"Good news?" Castille asked.

"Bout as good as expected. The Lagos brothers have been quiet…"

"They assumed we handed you to the Inquisitor," I said.

Arwen nodded.

"A fate I’m happy to avoid. Anyway, the Council is on board. There's a covered wagon out back. It'll take us right to the Mountains."

"Good. Then we should go. Everyone, take a pack," Castille said.

I rolled up my bedroll, slinging the rope I bought from Elmer over my shoulder. Isla ran upstairs to pull her staff from Thor's saddlebags; the time for deception was over. We each took a pack that Castille prepared, crowding around the Pit's back door while we waited for our leader.

Castille held Cassandra for a long moment, whispering something out of our earshot.

Cassandra laughed.

"If this place isn't burned down by the time you return," she said.

"Cass, I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, make it back in one piece."

They kissed.

I turned away.

Love… Another distraction.

We snuck out the back door and loaded ourselves into the covered wagon, with Arwen and Eric taking the lead. The wagon’s driver snapped on the reins, urging its team of horses forward.

At night, the Service Quarter came to life. The taverns overflowed with miners and workers, spending the gold they risked their lives to attain. Others wandered at the sides of the streets, picking fights with each other or being pulled into brothels by ladies of the night.

The wagon slowed down the further we went along the street.

"Crowd ahead, boss," the driver said.

"Then go around, Grayson."

A cheer erupted from the writhing mass of bodies blocking our path.

We looked through the opening of the covered wagon.

A makeshift scarecrow was burning. It hung from a noose over the jeering Steeltowners. Scraps of wood were pinned to the sides of its head, giving it pointed ears.

Isla rested a hand on my forearm. I flashed her a bitter smile.

"That’ll be me next.”

Castille grunted.

"Not if we all do our jobs tonight… and don’t make any mistakes."

The wagon banked to the left as the driver turned.

I fell back against its side, my eyes on the canopy.

Was she still angry about that?

Arwen sat across from me. His right eye was bruised purple from where I punched him.

"I'm sorry."

He blinked at me in surprise.

Castille and Dugan gave me curious looks.

"What? It's not the first time I've apologized."

"It's the first time I didn't believe you," Castille said.

I crossed my arms.

"I guess it’s because I grew up in an orphanage..."

Arwen frowned.

"State-run?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard they were so bad the King shut ‘em down. You think I run the daycare like that?"

“No, and that’s the problem. They’re not your kids. No one’s paying you to take care of them. And they’re an easy target if your enemies want to hurt you. I don’t get it. I don't know why you do what you do…”

Arwen raised his eyebrows.

"Eric? Why do we do what we do?”

The young man shrugged.

"Because it's right."

Arwen nodded.

"Well, you heard the man."

Because it's right?

I frowned.

What does that mean?