Gast to obey. “Bring him.”
Rillen yanked Van Gast up by the hair and he didn’t have the strength to resist.
Josie shouted something, but Van Gast couldn’t make out the words. Only the desperation, the fear. He was doing this for her. Because she’d once done this for him, to save him, and he’d thought she was betraying him. His words came out in a mumble. “`S all right, Josie love. Promise.”
The mage’s face loomed in front of him, the stench gone now that Van Gast was part of it, part of him.
“I can make this worse,” the mage said. “If you like. With a twist and a pull, I can tighten that bond so you can’t even move without my say so, impossible to fight against. I understand it’s very painful though, and it tends to kill the slave quicker. Though that might seem a mercy. Your choice. Now, I command you. Do as Rillen says, to the letter.”
Van Gast struggled to think beyond the throb at his wrist, the fog invading his brain. Remember who you are, what you do. Van Gast is the racketeer, the one they all want to beat. The man they can’t catch, who no cell can hold, who can steal like a god. He should bide his time, pretend, lie, live. Wait, and something would come along. Some plan from Josie’s twisty mind, some foolish bravado from Skrymir in the name of his oath, something stupid but utterly thrilling to do to get them all free. He’d think of something—he always did. Besides, he had to survive the now, survive until Josie was free, until they all were.
Add to that I want to live long enough to kill Rillen.
“Yes,” he mumbled. “I’ll do what he says.”
“Good. Very good, very sensible. All right, Rillen. The sooner, the better I think, don’t you?”
* * *
Perfect, this is all working out so very perfectly. Rillen could hardly contain himself.
Ilsa came out of the cell looking like a cat that had swallowed a king. Her smile was almost certainly a mirror to his own. He couldn’t resist the urge. When she came to stand next to him, he swept her up and kissed her, reveled in her. Perfect.
He set her back and watched her eyes, those little glimpses into her mind. They were very wide now, almost as wide as her smile. “Holden never kisses me like that,” she whispered.
Rillen nodded to the guards and they yanked Josie, biting and spitting, out of her cell. Another two got hold of Skrymir, set him on wobbly feet. Haban shuffled out after him. The cuffs, the ankle chains the guards added and half a dozen guns pointed at them kept them quiet enough.
He bent down to whisper in Ilsa’s ear. “Then Holden’s a fool. Stay with me, become my lady, and I will kiss you like that every hour of every day. All Estovan will be ours. And a lot of money too. Everything you wish for will be yours.” He straightened up and raised his voice. “Sergeant, get them going.”
The guards got them moving, though Josie spat a stream of vile words, tried elbows and knees to get back to Van Gast. In the end, only a pistol jabbed in her face and a threat to use it, right now, got her going.
“Van Gast, follow them.”
The bonding had perturbed Rillen, made squirming thoughts riddle his brain. Before, Van Gast had been a preening peacock, a larger-than-life force, full of energy that seemed to flow from him in waves. Now he shuffled like an old man, his hands shaking, his eyes hauntingly vacant as though he looked only inward, into a personal demon-infested space. It made Rillen want to look away, to deny he had anything to do with the transformation. He had his revenge, and it sickened him.
Enough. It would be worth it when all was done.
Instead of watching Van Gast, he watched Ilsa gloating over Josie’s hurt, at the all-too-apparent fear—and a neat set of scratches—on Josie’s face even as she fought and spat, the tremor as she called to Van Gast and got no answer.
“Was it all you hoped?” he asked.
“And more.” Ilsa’s smile was beatific and spiteful, as though she’d been blessed by gods and demons both. “You gave me all I wished for.”
“Oh, there’s more to come. Much more.”
He kissed her again, tongue sliding against tongue, heat rising everywhere, a promise of more to come, of heat, of the passion that her hate was just