4. Chapter Four

We released Alistair Corvus on the border of Sophrosyne and Pyrhhas before the break of dawn, mist still blanketing the forest floors of the Wyldwoods as the man stumbled home in shambles. Though our clerics had healed every last physical wound he had sustained during questioning, there was a certain delirium present in his frantic, beady gaze as he looked back, and I knew that I had kept my promise. I broke him.

If only I could bring myself to give a shit.

No man on this plane of existence or the next was ever truly innocent, no hands among us ever truly clean… but this one’s had been particularly filthy. Stained in blood and greed, among other things. Over the course of several hours, quite a few admissions of guilt had slipped past the merchant’s lips, confessing his involvement in the Pyrhhan black markets, the distribution of dangerous and illegal substances, and, most disturbingly—his participation in the flesh trade in recent years.

He’d been a buyer, not a seller, and he swore up and down that his purchases had always been of age. That they had been “willing.” I had my doubts on the latter point, but it was hard to lie about such things with a dagger in your thigh. For that reason he still drew breath, though I knew his freedom would be short-lived. We had recorded every last confession, signed and sealed with the intent to deliver the information to the Pyrhhan Guard by sunrise. Corvus would spend the rest of his pathetic existence behind bars, that much I knew.

Justice served between the territories in Atlas was a tricky thing, particularly when we got involved. Every territory from Samhaven to Pyrhhas operated independently, answering only to their respective Houses. That said, the Atlassian Houses were put in power by those that ruled over Sophrosyne today: The Elders. The gods.

The Elders who would admittedly not approve of what I’d done to that man over the last few hours, but I was well-acquainted with operating outside of standard protocol for the Elder Guard. I was also perfectly content to sacrifice what little remained of my own morality, so long as it kept my city safe.

Tonight though…

I had failed. There had been some sort of block placed on Alistair’s mind that had legitimately prevented him from confessing anything related to the Jerricks boy—an unfamiliar sort of arcane bind that even I couldn’t unravel, nor could my blades. Every time we had even come close, the merchant’s eyes nearly burst from their sockets as he screamed bloody murder, and then would promptly lose consciousness. Eventually, we had to relent.

Though I had direct confirmation that he was the last person seen with the missing child, holding Corvus any longer than twenty-four hours would be considered a breach of several treaties, and the last thing I needed was to have Pyrhhan scouts sniffing around our business. They were our allies, and any breach of trust that severe would cost me my position.

Letting him go was still infuriating.

After directing a few of my reports to look into some of the names Corvus had given up in association with his other crimes, I returned to my horse and rode back into the city with haste. As the wind whipped around me, a rare voice of self-defense and reason spoke in my mind.

You and your men did all you could with the information you had. It had been a long shot, anyway. The boy’s been gone for weeks.

A more familiar voice bit back.

Doesn’t fucking matter if your best isn’t good enough. His blood is on our hands.

Whose blood, though? The blood of Alistair Corvus? Or the Jerricks boy? That was yet to be determined, I supposed. We hadn’t found a body. The kid could still be out there. As for Alistair’s survival… That wasn’t really my problem anymore.

I focused in on the cadence of my steed’s gallop, numbing my anger and frustration, and by the time I’d arrived at the stables, my failure was properly compartmentalized. I had a solid list of next steps prepared in my head. All of which would have to wait, because if I wanted it done right, I needed to get some semblance of rest first.

The problem was that after the last twenty-four hours, I would be hard pressed for sleep. Not without a distraction, at least. And so I went hunting for one.

I was not a man of many vices.

I had a rather… stringent upbringing. One that bred a great deal of self-discipline and regiment, but ascetic I was not. I rarely drank to the point of inebriation, had never willingly touched an ounce of any drug in my life, and I was not a betting man… but I was still a man, one with as many carnal cravings as the next. Perhaps more.

Probably more.

I was not a man of many vices, but to say that I often overindulged in the one vice that I allowed myself might have been an understatement.

This tavern was not one of my regular haunts, but I knew it had a certain reputation, and pickings would be slim at nearly six in the morning. After ordering a single round of ale and getting comfortable at a corner table, I began to scan the room for possibilities.

A woman who looked to be in her thirties glanced over at me from across the bar, and I allowed my gaze to flicker over her briefly. She was attractive, if not a bit thin, but there was a tell-tale droop in her expression. A dull sort of glassiness to her gray-blue eyes that told me all I needed to know. She was drunk off her ass.

No, thanks.

Given my own proclivities, I could hardly judge those who found solace at the bottom of a bottle, but I preferred my quarries conscious and consenting. I continued my casual scan through the tavern, which was surprisingly busy for six in the godsdamned morning. I supposed the place had earned its reputation after all.

That was both convenient and inconvenient for me, because sure—there were plenty of bodies in the building, but most had seemingly entered the night before. And many were chasing away their hangovers with another round or three. I could only sympathize with the poor barkeep who was surrounded by shuffling feet and slurred speech.

This was, admittedly, not my sort of place.

My line of work was not particularly suited for… relationships. Or any sort of long-term commitments, for that matter. But I liked to fuck—hard and often. And while my tastes in participating parties weren’t exactly particular, I held myself to certain standards with who I chose to take home, whether that be for an hour or an evening. Never much more than that.

This much alcohol didn’t play nice with enthusiastic consent, or decent sex for that matter. And bad sex… Well, that wasn’t much of a distraction, now was it?

“Looking for someone?” A low voice called from my left, just as I was about ready to take my leave.

A handsome man with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes that glinted green in the low light was leaning casually against the table beside me. His head was cocked with a curious grin, and he made no efforts to conceal the slow once-over he was giving me. I took advantage of the opportunity to do the very same, and I liked what I saw.

Not anymore, I’m not.

“Oh?” A lighter, more feminine voice called from behind him, a manicured hand snaking around his waist. “Who’s this?”

“A good time,” I replied, taking a sip of my drink as I gave them both a slow, methodical glance, studying their body language. Reading their signals. They were far from subtle.

The femme who had just joined us also made no efforts to conceal her interest, either—biting down on her painted lip as her eyes roved hungrily from my face, to my neck, to my groin. She twirled a single, strawberry blonde curl with one finger, and though her eyes were also hooded, it was with lust over liquor—and I chuckled softly. She was pretty, though I was more interested in her partner at the moment.

I knew what they saw when they stared me down—a handsome face, a hint of danger in my scars and tattoos, a well-toned physique. A toy to be used, perhaps, but I was down to play. That’s what I was here for, after all.

“You know, I was sort of hoping you’d say that,” the man said, his grin spreading slowly. His partner’s eyes lit up like a sparkling solstice pyre, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Talk about an easy target. What was that saying again? A bird in the hand is worth two in the sack?

“Your place, or mine?”