City of Spells (Into the Crooked Place #2) - Alexandra Christo Page 0,87

was true, since every person in the room had survived when the odds were against them at least a handful of times. Karam and Arjun just a few days before. They might not have been great at a lot of things, but there was something to be said for a group of outcasts who refused to let life slip through their fingers.

There was a knock then and by the time Wesley turned, the double doors had been pushed open and a group of at least a dozen amityguards filled the room. They surrounded the small circle that Wesley and the others had made, their dark green uniforms pressed and cleared of even the smallest specks of dirt.

The faces of the men were freshly shaven, the women’s hair pulled back into tight ponytails, and each of their belts with a single gun to the left and a host of magic in perfectly organized pouches across the rest of the loops. The Uskhanyan insignia was on their breast pockets and when Fenna Schulze entered the room, they pressed their palms flat against it—against their hearts—and dipped their heads in a show of fealty.

“Wesley Thornton Walcott,” Schulze said. “Former underboss of Creije.”

“Fenna Schulze,” he said back. “Former Doyen of the realm.”

Schulze didn’t afford him a smile, but she did reach out her hand for Wesley to shake and he took it with slow and careful consideration. He was more than aware of the eyes of the amityguards, watching his every move for even a twitch of his fingers.

“I’m still the Doyen,” Schulze said.

“For now. But we all know Ashwood has other plans.”

Schulze sighed and took one of the two empty seats at the table. Wesley took the other, directly across from her.

Fenna Schulze had led Uskhanya to greatness since her election, working to secure better trade and clean up the streets of the realm from the darkest magics. She’d given rehabilitation to addicts and created banks where people could hand in illegal charms without fear of prosecution. She’d done a lot to help people feel safe from the underrealm again.

And she looked all the worse for it.

Not surprisingly, Schulze looked haggard and far more anxious than she did on the posters and graffiti drawn across the capital with slogans like Schulze for a better realm, scrawled by her angled jaw. Now, her short red hair was pushed haphazardly away from her face and her serpent-green eyes were lined with sleepless circles.

This woman was the leader of the realm, the elected Doyen, and she looked very much like she needed a drink.

Thankfully, Wesley already had a bottle of Cloverye in the center of the table.

“I assume it isn’t poisoned,” Schulze said, gesturing to the bottle.

“It’s not,” Wesley said.

He leaned over to grab the bottle and pushed it beside Schulze’s empty glass.

“Of course,” Schulze said, pouring out a drink for herself. “Poison is too clean and you do like to make a mess of things.”

Still, she looked at the bottle and then at Wesley expectantly, and it was only when he poured his own drink and took a sip that Schulze finally let her lips touch the glass.

“I appreciate you agreeing to meet us,” Wesley said. “It’s not every day that an underboss gets to see a Doyen in the flesh.”

“Your bat was too interesting to turn down. Though do be warned that I have taken precautions for my safety and if I don’t check in with my people every ten minutes, then they have permission to burn this estate to the ground,” Schulze said. “You’re surrounded with quick-fire charms.”

Wesley hadn’t expected any less.

“Then I guess I should talk fast,” he said.”Starting with the fact that Ashwood is on a mission to rule Uskhanya in your place.”

Schulze took another, much larger, sip of her drink. “And he’s already taken my capital,” she said. “And Tisvgen, where our dead can now no longer rest in peace. Now he is in my government city and I have had to be evacuated from my home. There’s no way back into Yejlath and a bulk of my forces are trapped inside, trying to defend it from those monsters while I’m unable to help.”

“That’s why we’re proposing an alliance,” Wesley said. “So we can kill Ashwood together.”

“Kill him,” Schulze repeated. She slammed her glass down on the table, hard enough that Wesley was surprised when it didn’t shatter. “Is that a joke?”

“Was it funny?”

Schulze eyed Wesley with as much suspicion as anyone had done. He was used to it. He’d