City of Spells (Into the Crooked Place #2) - Alexandra Christo Page 0,99
were torturing him, in the middle of the night and the middle of the street. In full view of anyone who dared to look.
“What in the fire-gates do they think they’re doing?” Saxony whispered.
“Having the time of their lives, apparently,” Wesley said.
He studied the amityguards with a blank expression, no mirror of the outrage Saxony felt and no sign of pride at having saved the man. But Saxony could see his eyes narrow as he took in the scene, evaluating every moment and weighing up what he should do next.
“We have to stop them,” Saxony said, making the choice for him. “Those guards are damn rieshles!”
“No,” Tavia said. “They’re not.”
She had the same look as Wesley, a little placid as she watched the bleeding man beg for his life.
How could Tavia think that they weren’t assholes?
They were going to drive that man to his death.
“Are you out of your mind?” Saxony asked. “Look at them.”
“She means that they’re not guards,” Wesley said. “Look again.”
Saxony did.
And then she cursed herself.
Tavia and Wesley were right.
It would take a certain kind of amityguard, who had fought against dark magic under Fenna Schulze, and worked to keep Creije as a thriving tourist hot spot safe from the underrealm scum, to then switch sides and work for the Kingpin. Saxony suspected that most of those who hadn’t been killed had refused—and then been killed—and the only ones that remained were those who were already on the take.
The rest were replaced by more of Ashwood’s people.
The six in front of her didn’t even wear proper uniforms. They were the right color and the belts were filled with the right weapons and magic, but the Uskhanyan insignia had been torn from the breast pockets and the sleeves were bloodstained. Probably by the original guards whose uniforms they had repurposed.
There were no real amityguards anymore.
Just soldiers.
Just Crafters in uniform, or longtime victims of the Loj with the mark on their neck now as deep as a scar.
“Get up and dance!” the guard screamed down at the man.
Wesley cleared his throat, quiet enough that the guards didn’t hear over the roar of their music. Loud enough that it told Saxony they weren’t sticking around to find out how this ended.
“Come on,” Wesley said. “We need to go.”
“We’re not going to save him?”
“First we save the city.”
Saxony shook her head and turned to Tavia for backup, but her friend’s face only held an apologetic grimace.
“This is Creije,” Tavia said, in a small whisper. “People die all the time. We have bigger enemies to deal with and we can’t risk getting caught. We’re supposed to be invisible, remember?”
Saxony couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She expected it from Wesley. After all, he’d had to survive as an underboss in Creije and that meant doing things nobody else wanted to, but Tavia had never left an innocent person behind to suffer. She hadn’t even wanted to sell magic on the streets half of the time and she blamed herself whenever she did and somebody got hurt because of it.
Saxony looked over to Karam, in a last-ditch effort to rally some support, but before she had even fully turned to her, Saxony knew it was a lost cause. Karam was nothing if not practical in the face of battle.
“We cannot risk engaging them in case something goes wrong,” Karam said. “They are distracted now. They will not see us cross the bridge. And with that music, they will not hear us until it is too late.”
Saxony looked over her shoulder and back to the man. “But—”
“We save that man by saving my city,” Wesley said. “Now come on.”
He headed for the next side street, Tavia following him without hesitation. Karam shrugged, squeezed Saxony’s hand, and then ran after them.
With an aching regret deep inside of her, Saxony did the same.
They made their way toward the bridge that separated the two halves of Creije. The outskirts from High Town. The amity precinct from the magic markets.
The bridge was a grand spectacle, pure white with swirling arches and engraved beams that dipped into the water. The suspension chains were a glacier blue that matched the Steady Mountains, and each of the grandiose towers it bore was roofed by the Uskhanyan flag. From a distance it looked a little like a monument.
“We need to float up to the top of the center tower and set off the Star Eggs from there,” Wesley said. “Smack bang in the middle of the city.”