The Shadow City. Ryan Wieser
the position their common friend—enemy—had put them in. Before either could speak, a small cry called out to them.
“Dada,” Jeco wept.
Jessop waited for Falco to go to him.
“Do you want to?” he offered.
She turned, flicking on the water to bathe. “He didn’t call for me.”
* * * *
The blade was a dark violet color, the hilt made up of shining onyx stones. It was the most beautiful weapon she had ever seen—and its purple edge still bore her dry blood. She cleaned the weapon meticulously, wiping it down until there was no longer any evidence to the fact that it had nearly taken her life. She discarded the cloth and turned the blade over in her hand. It was singular.
We had this made for you, for your initiation.
The last words he had spoken to her.
Her stomach twisted with ghost pains, her skin still quick to remember the feeling of the blade deep inside her. She sheathed the weapon and placed it back on the ground. She had come to the Hollow nearly every day since she had been well enough to walk. Training was when she was most comfortable, wherever she was, whoever she was supposed to be, whomever she was with—she felt at ease with a weapon in hand.
“He designed it for you, you know.”
She smiled at Trax’s voice. He approached the ledge of the Hollow and sat beside her, letting his long legs swing over the lip of the edge. She watched as he picked up the weapon, admiring the hilt, pulling it loose from its sheath to regard the blade.
She watched him turn the blade over. “I’m not surprised.”
He sheathed the weapon again, laying it between them. “There are not many who can claim to fight with the weapon that nearly took their life.”
She shrugged. “I’ve never fought with it.”
He looked her over with glowing yellow eyes. “Shall we remedy that?”
She contemplated the offer, her eyes darting over the Hollow below—the fire, the burning oil, the ropes and sand…She had last been down there with him. Could she re-enter, with the blade he made her, and claim back a space they had shared for so long? She felt like an intruder, as though this were something she had lost in their dissolved relationship, that this place was something he got to keep.
She touched her hand to her stomach. “It’s still too soon.”
“Baruk,” Trax spoke, nodding at her with understanding.
She regarded his glowing eyes carefully; he knew she was lying. He was too reverent to say as much, though. He knew better than most how she felt. He had been with her, her aide-de-camp, her closest companion as she executed the greatest infiltration and deepest betrayal imaginable. He, like many of his kin, had always been loyal to Falco, but that did not diminish the relationships he had built with his brethren in Falco’s absence. He too had betrayed those he cared so deeply for.
Trax stood slowly, brushing the dust away from his trousers. “It feels as though we trespass on their land—”
“Trax.”
He raised a hand to ward off her defensiveness. “I don’t need to enter your mind to know it. I feel it, too. It is important to remember that it is not we who trespass on Hydo’s ground, but they who trespassed for so many years on Falco’s.”
His words resonated within her. As she had known, he felt her difficulties too, as they were his own. She nodded to her friend slowly, silently. Her guilt had torn her sight away from the truth, from the reality of their situation. She had done an unspeakable thing to Kohl O’Hanlon, but it did not change how she felt for Falco, or why she had done it. She now needed to know more than ever that it hadn’t changed how Falco felt for her.
She leapt to her feet. “Trax, could you go watch Jeco for me?”
He smiled at her knowingly. “Of course.”
* * * *
Jessop threw the door to the Assembly Council room open. Falco was leaning over a table, Urdo Rendo and Teck Fay flanking him, deep in conversation. His gaze tore up to her. “Jessop, Trax came for Jeco if you—”
“Leave us,” she barked, crossing the room swiftly. Without hesitation, the older Hunter and the mage left them. They had seen what she was capable of; they did not falter at her command.
“We were actually talk—”
She stopped right before him, ignoring his crossed arms and frustrated stare. “Well, we need to talk.”
He took a deep breath. “Alright. What is it?”
She studied his beautiful face, his pale gray eyes and perfect lips, his dark brow and short hair. The scar that Kohl O’Hanlon had carved down one side of his face. “I am in love with you, Falco. I always have been and always will be. Everything I did, I did for you, for Jeco, for us. I may have slept with Kohl for our plan to work, but that is not what bonded him and me.”
She could see how what she said upset him. His lip tightened at her words, but he forced himself to stay silent and listen to her.
“I watched him breathe at night and he realigned everything he believed in so that I could be a part of his life. While in the end he chose his brothers, for a while it seemed like he might have chosen me. Like I mattered more than everything he had ever been taught. Through all of these things, we were bonded. But did it make me fall in love with him? Never. Not for one moment. Not for a single second. You cannot shatter someone’s heart so mercilessly unless it is done for the one you truly love. What I did to him, I did for you. What matters now isn’t whether I want him dead or alive, but whether you can see past the bond we forged at your behest.”
His face softened but he said nothing. She rested her hands on his chest and still he did not move.
“I only want you. I know it will take time for me to live with what I did to Kohl, but that means nothing for us. But if you don’t want me too—”
Her voice cracked at the thought. If Falco couldn’t see past what had happened between her and Kohl, then so much of what she had done was for naught. If she had reclaimed a throne for a lord who could no longer love her, for a son who did not recognize her any longer, then…
He had his arms around her so suddenly it trapped her breath. His mouth found hers with ease and hunger, his fingers working over her tunic, grabbing her, propping her up on the table. With equal craving, she grabbed at him. She kissed him deeply, pulled him closer to her, felt the heat of his chest against her breast.
“Of course I want you. I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair as she kissed his neck.
She raised her arms for him to pull her tunic free. “As am I.”
* * * *
Jessop pulled her vest tight around her muscular frame. The leather ran smoothly over her tunic. The dark breeches tucked around her legs well. She traced her fingers over the Hunter’s sigil on her breast—Falco’s sigil. She would eventually don different attire. She wouldn’t always dress as a Hunter, but for the time being, it felt surprisingly good to once again wear the leather. She leaned over and pulled on her black boots.
With expert hands she wove her dark hair into a plait, letting it fall down her spine. She dampened her fingers in the bowl of water before her, patting down any errant strands. Finally, she reached for her blade. She did not stop to admire the hilt, she did not hesitate with a flash of Kohl’s face in her mind. She did not think of how he had designed this weapon for her and her body did not ache as it remembered being impaled. She simply grabbed it, a weapon—her weapon—and sheathed it at her hip.
“Mama.” Jeco’s small voice surprised her. She turned from her reflection and saw her son standing in the doorway, Falco behind him. He looked up to her with big gray eyes, and slowly, he smiled. His dark hair