Page 50 of Heartbreak Prince

“Good. This next turn should lead us to—” But as I round the corner, moonlight slants into the alley, revealing a tall figure. The crystals on the soldier’s helmet glitter as he stalks toward me, slitting the top of his hand with one long nail. A blood activation.

I don’t wait to see what the glyph is. I slit my own skin at the back of the wrist and trigger my shield glyph.

The impact of the incoming magic knocks me back against Vawn. He grunts at the impact, then licks one of his nails and hisses, “Take this, motherfucker.”

The oncoming assassin wavers suddenly, his legs wobbling beneath him. It’s Vawn’s nerve stimulation glyph, which apparently can be used at a distance, with the intent to cause pleasure or pain. Genius, really, on a level I wouldn’t have given him credit for.

Taking advantage of the assassin’s momentary weakness, I charge ahead. I have precious little room to ply my knife skills, and the assassin has a blade as well. For several seconds I grapple with him, locked in a tight, panicked maelstrom of lethal edges, slitted fabric, heaving breaths, and straining limbs. Pain pierces my side. I don’t think it’s deep, and my blade finds a more deadly entry point, under the edge of the assassin’s helmet. But as I’m yanking the knife free, the assassin’s bloody nails graze my cheek.

Immediately my limbs go slack, and I fall forward, nerveless and numb. Completely paralyzed.

“Syth!” Vawn’s hand fumbles along my back. “Syth! Fuck…”

He turns me over. I can barely breathe, and I can’t speak. I’m a floppy doll staring blankly at him.

“Syth, are you dead?” His voice cracks on the last word. Frantically he pulls open my jacket and presses his ear to my chest. His hair is like silk against my skin.

“You have a heartbeat. Good. This is temporary, then.” He’s shaking, though I can’t tell if it’s from fear or relief.

He should leave me and run. It would be the smart thing to do. I’m dead weight. I’ll slow him down and get him killed. If I could speak, I would scream at him not to be stupid, to just go. But I can’t, so of course, he behaves like an absolute moron and tries to pick me up. The alley is too narrow, and he can’t manage it. He has to drag me over the dead assassin’s body and pull me along the alley until he gets to the open street. Once there, he adds my satchel to the burden he’s carrying.

“I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the alley, while I stare blankly up at the midnight sky and scream inwardly for him to hurry.

A purple-clad figure with a crystal-encrusted helmet leans over me, and my blood runs cold. But then I spot the straps of our satchels and the carpet case across the figure’s chest.

“Easy.” Vawn’s voice is muffled through the helmet. “This disguise won’t fool anyone for long. I couldn’t take the pants, because the fucker already shit them when he died. Disgusting. I hope I die with empty bowels and a dry bladder. Nice and clean.”

He scoops me up in his arms, takes a few steps to the right, then changes his mind and heads to the left.

“I don’t know which way the gondolas are,” he whispers. “I’ve never been good with directions. We’ll hope for the best.”

This is marvelous. Perfect. He’s going to get lost while toting me around like a sack of potatoes through a mountain city. His breath is already labored under the combined weight of my body, the empty carpet case, and both our satchels. Thankfully the satchels only have clothing in them—if we’d already loaded up on food for our journey through the mountains, they’d be even heavier.

The cobbled streets of Zeletas never see anything larger than hand-wagons and pedaled carts, so they’re narrower and more convoluted than those of other cities. Vawn climbs one of the hills, cruelly steep with dangerously uneven cobblestones, and he pauses at the top to catch his breath. I stare up at the night sky, mottled with clouds and patches of starry black.

A dark rectangle with glowing green and blue threads passes overhead.

That’s not our carpet. This one is flying steadily, staying low enough to the rooftops to avoid the violent, unpredictable wind currents in the upper layers of the air.

Every bit of me wants to scream and warn Vawn, but he spots the carpet as well and withdraws into the shadow of a shop’s awning.

“I think I’m going the wrong way,” he pants through the helmet.

Yes, you are. I wish I could tell you where to go. But I can’t move my lips or make more than a low moan in my throat.

At the sound, his arms curl more securely around me. “I’ve got you.”

Boots scrape on stone, and his helmeted head turns in that direction.

“You there, soldier. Who is that?” says an unfamiliar voice.

I slant my eyes as far over as they will roll, catching a glimpse of two egg-shaped helmets.

“I found one of the fugitives,” Vawn says. “I paralyzed her, and I’m taking her to headquarters.”

“You’re heading the wrong way,” replies the soldier.

“I’m afraid I got turned around. If you could point me in the right direction, I’ll get this criminal to our leaders right away.”