CH653 · Rewrite
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Chapter 653: An Unexpected Guest

Whatever had just happened outside, it was not good.

Black Money is supposed to run a legitimate underground operation, Yorko thought, cursing Otto for the thousandth time that evening. The goods are illegal, yes — but the auction itself is organized by serious people. And now someone has come for me. I never would have agreed to this if I’d known.

He looked around the room for anything useful. There were no weapons — only the restraints Black Money used on its commodities.

The door opened.

Yorko hit the floor without thinking. “Please spare my life! I’ll give you whatever you want—”

The intruder didn’t stop. She launched herself at him.

He flinched sideways by instinct, bringing his head down and leaning hard to one side.

“No, Annie!”

Amy’s voice came from the wall at the same moment. The wooden thing — a chair leg, by the look of it — stopped a hand’s width from his cheek. He could feel the displaced air.

Before he’d finished processing this, a large hand closed on his shoulder from behind, lifted him as easily as a bag of meal, and pressed him face-down onto the bed.

“Did he hurt you?” The voice was rough, androgynous — neither clearly a man’s nor a woman’s.

“He said… he’s here to help me get out.”

“You’ve been deceived again, Amy.” A sigh, then the efficient, impersonal work of binding his arms behind his back. “4,000 gold royals to rescue a stranger? That’s a lifetime’s savings even for your father.”

So she was the competing bidder. That explained the price. What it didn’t explain was how she’d found his room — the cave passages were dark except for the display booth, and the limestone underground was a maze even with a guide.

It was his life at stake now, not Otto’s errand or some friend’s favor. Yorko found his persuasion sharpening.

“I didn’t lie to her! I’m the Ambassador of Graycastle. Rescuing this witch is the king’s order!”

The hand on his back paused.

“Ambassador of — Graycastle?”

He felt the grip relax slightly. He pressed it.

“Roland Wimbledon. Fourth son of King Wimbledon III. He believes there is no difference between witches and ordinary people. He fought the church to let witches live freely in his domain. Every word of this is true — I swear it.”

Annie might not recognize the name Roland Wimbledon. But Graycastle’s defeat of the church at Coldwind Ridge had spread through every city in the Kingdom of Dawn; Hill Fawkes and his people had made certain of that. The church had always been witches’ most immediate enemy. The kingdom that broke the church’s army would mean something to any witch who was still alive.

The hand on his back lifted.

He was turned over and pulled upright. In the torchlight, he finally saw the person who had taken him apart so efficiently.

Annie was tall — broad-shouldered, with a body that filled her cape and then some. The kind of build that would read as male on a dark street. But her face was striking in a different way: angular, vivid, with brows that swept slightly upward and narrow eyes that held their focus completely. She wore her hair pulled into a high tail, her forehead clear. Her voice was rough, but her face was unmistakably a woman’s — handsome in a way Yorko privately found he envied.

“Then why didn’t you unlock her restraints?” Annie said.

“Same reason I just explained to her.” He managed to keep his voice even. “It prevents her from panicking and running. Which means no one has to give chase, no one gets caught, and I don’t have to explain a 4,000-gold-royal purchase disappearing from my room.”

“And where were you planning to take her?” She hadn’t softened. “To give her to the King of Graycastle?”

“Not as a slave — obviously not. Roland doesn’t treat witches as property. They live in his domain as free people. They’ve formed an organization dedicated to protecting witches’ rights. He even called on them to help contain the demonic plague that spread through the king’s city.”

“Enough!”

He shut his mouth.

She was scanning the room now, locating the key on its hook beside the wall. Something he’d said had made her voice harder, not softer, and he couldn’t place why.

“It sounds exactly like the Bloodfang Association,” she said, cold and flat. “They promoted themselves the same way.”

“Blood— what?” Yorko’s stomach shifted with a formless unease. He didn’t know the name. He wished he did.

“Witches cannot trust nobles’ promises.” She took the key from the wall. “We can only trust ourselves.”

“Wait — you’re taking her now? Underground, past all those guards? How do you expect to get out?”

“I have my way.” She crossed to Amy and began working the shackles free. Then she came back to Yorko, took his arm with practiced efficiency, and locked one ankle to the wall in Amy’s place.

He didn’t resist. He could see she wasn’t trying to kill him — at least not yet.

“Think about this one more time,” he said. “I can get her out without raising suspicion. Let me bring her to the courtyard above, and I’ll hand her to you there. No guards, no chases, no torches in the dark.”

“And possibly a welcome of drawn swords and God’s Stones,” Annie said. “I made a mistake once, trusting what sounded reasonable. I won’t make it again.”

She dragged No. 76 in from the outer room — unconscious, blood on her temple, breathing shallowly but breathing — and tied her hands and locked her ankle to the wall beside him.

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Yorko asked.

“I’ll have time for that later, if it comes to it.” Her voice was completely level. “But you helped the Kingdom of Graycastle defeat the church. That means something to me. So you’re both alive for now.” She looked at him a moment longer than necessary. “That doesn’t mean I trust Roland Wimbledon’s promises unconditionally.”

“I’ll relay your words to His Majesty. And — if you need anything — come to the embassy. I’m there.”

Though it would honestly be simpler if she doesn’t, he added silently. I’ve done what I could. Even Otto can’t fault me for this. You can’t force a witch who doesn’t want to be found.

Annie turned to go. She picked up Amy — still unsteady on freed legs — and carried her toward the door. At the threshold she looked back once, held him with those narrow, direct eyes for a moment, and then was gone.

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