Chapter nine - original version

Bryn

Bryn counted ten seconds after knocking, then pushed open the door to Bowie’s room. It collided with a string of items strewn across the carpet. Typical. The kid’s room was always a tip. Bryn closed the door behind himself and picked up the spring-loaded dagger contraption lying discarded at his feet, examining it with a frown. Bowie only survived the fight in the Devil’s Tongue tonight because of this thing. Bryn hadn’t protected him.

“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” he said, grinning even though he felt sick.

Bowie watched him over the enormous tome he’d been reading, seated in the alcove. An unseasonably frigid breeze floated in through the open stained-glass window beside him, ruffling the curtains. His jacket lay in a heap on the floor. “What happened at the warehouse?” he asked quietly.

“Close that window before you freeze,” Bryn replied.

He crossed the room and set about building up the fire, because Bowie might be good at surviving but he was useless at actually looking after himself. Left to his own devices, he’d be lost in that book until midnight, then fall into bed and shiver for hours because he’d forgotten to heat the room.

You couldn’t have a rigid routine when you worked for someone like Splinter. Bryn’s plans changed every day at Splinter’s behest and Bowie’s errands sometimes kept him out until dawn. Still, Bryn coming up here at the end of the day was something of a habit now. About four months ago, Bowie had stopped greeting him on the threshold with a weapon in hand.

“Slate,” Bowie demanded impatiently. “What happened at the warehouse?”

Bryn rose, rolling his shoulders stiffly, head and body aching from getting slammed to the ground by Nula’s explosion. “Nothing happened,” he said wearily. “By the time we got there, everything was gone.”

“What?” Bowie jerked to his feet, his heavy book crashing hard to the floor. “How much did they take?”

“Not your problem. Go to bed.”

Bowie’s messy black curls flew about his face as he shook his head. “We have to do something.”

He snagged his jacket off the floor and crossed the room purposefully, heading for the door.

“Oi.” Bryn intercepted him, catching his arms. “We don’t have to do anything.” He grabbed Bowie’s jacket and dumped it back onto the floor, then steered the boy over to the bed. “Splinter will decide what to do about this, and if he wants you involved he’ll tell you.”

Bryn would do whatever he could to keep Splinter from involving Bowie … not that he had a lot of options to keep Bowie safe without making everything worse.

Gods, did my father worry about me this much?

The guilt was familiar, strong enough to steal the breath from his body, seizing like a fist around his heart. He imagined fingernails digging in, puncturing the pumping organ until all the blood pulsed rhythmically out of his chest and he withered away. He thought about his father the most when he was with Bowie, little, unexpected things dislodging painfully sweet memories from when he was small. Bryn had never agreed with his father on much of anything, but they would have at least agreed on Bowie. Maybe Saban would even be proud of Bryn.

That was a conundrum. He wouldn’t be here to take care of Bowie if not for what he’d done to his father.

His hands tightened on Bowie’s shoulders and he steadied his breath. “Get some sleep.”

“Where are you going?”

“Splinter asked me to check up on Anna.”

Bowie snorted. “She hates you already. Why are you so good at pissing off women?”

“I don’t know, smart ass. Why are you so good at pissing off everyone else?” Bryn gave him a playful shove. He frowned when Bowie didn’t hit him back. “What’s wrong? Your head still hurt?”

He bent down, lifting Bowie’s chin to examine the cut at his hairline.

Bowie squirmed away. “Stop. It’s fine. I need to tell you something.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Great. He had a habit of casually dropping bad news into the conversation. “And you have to promise to keep it a secret.”

“You know I will. What is it?”

“Her real name isn’t Anna. She’s Aela Rinn, the commander of Dunwyn’s army, the Reaper of Dunwyn. King Saban’s favourite —“

“I know who she is,” Bryn interrupted sharply. At Bowie’s odd look, he amended, “I mean I know who Aela Rinn is. Does Splinter know about this?”

“No, and we’re not going to tell him,” Bowie said firmly when Bryn opened his mouth. “Slate. She helped me tonight. I’ll kick your ass if you say anything.”

“I’d like to see that, little man,” Bryn scoffed. He didn’t say that Aela Rinn had helped Bowie during the fight in the Devil’s Tongue because that was what normal people did. At some point, Bowie had developed an understanding that accepting kindness from someone was conditional on a returned favour. It was hard to think about. “And believe me, if you’ve figured out who she is, Splinter has too. You be careful, do you understand me? Neither of us is sticking our necks out in this place for Aela fucking Rinn.”

***

Aela Rinn, the commander of Dunwyn’s army, the Reaper of Dunwyn. King Saban’s favourite.

King Saban’s favourite.

King Saban’s favourite.

Of course Bryn knew who she was. Aela Rinn wasn’t exactly forgettable, even without the old memories burned into his brain - the way he’d felt when she knelt before Saban in the great hall. Small. Awestruck. Bitterly jealous and overwhelmingly relieved that Saban finally had someone on whom he could actually rely. She probably didn’t remember him at all; she’d been so focussed on his father. Like everyone.

He’d recognised her instantly in the tavern last night, even before she’d beaten the shit out of Dagny in the fighting ring. Watching Aela Rinn fight took his breath away, a different kind of breathlessness than the pain of guilt and loss. It was strange for her to be slumming it in Underground with criminal scum. Maybe that’s what had Bryn so out of sorts, his obscure … disappointment in her.

Aela’s room was the last door at the end of the hallway, opposite Nula’s. He paused outside, suddenly at a loss. Dagny had been the one to check up on him after his first fight in Underground. He’d been obtuse about it, of course, shoving his way into Bryn’s room without knocking to say, “You good?” then sauntering out when Bryn nodded in bewilderment, not bothering to close the door behind him. Asshole.

He should probably knock on Aela’s door, although if he was invasive enough she might rethink her choices and run far from the confines of Anarchist Underground. He pushed open the door and the small room immediately felt overheated, warmed by the damp air drifting from the open bathroom door. Water sloshed and he froze, realising he’d made a terrible mistake.

She was in the fucking bath.

If he was Dagny, he’d saunter into that washroom and be a creep about it. But Bryn wasn’t Dagny. He didn’t care if Aela Rinn thought he was a prick, but he’d prefer she didn’t see him as a fucking predator.

Backing up to the door, he called out, “Oi. Not having a breakdown in there are you?”

Silence. Fair enough. She hated him.

“Hey,” he said again. “Just tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”

No answer. Aside from the soft trickle of water hitting the tiled floor.

A bead of sweat snaked down the back of Bryn’s neck, uneasiness cooling the muggy air. Something wasn’t right. Surely she should have told him to fuck off by now. “Anna?”

Nothing.

Bryn moved without thinking about it, barreling through the washroom door, and around the screen. She was underwater, her motionless hands skimming the suds floating on the surface. His panicked thoughts fractured and scattered. He couldn’t stand over another dead body. Plunging his hand into the tub, his fingers circled her arm and he felt corded muscle and soft skin before pulling her up out of the water, coming face-to-face with sopping dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

Disappointing that Dunwyn and Nielle were bitter enemies, because he was just now realising blue-eyed women were his type.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Aela’s fury was about to bring the bathwater to the boil. Bryn jerked his hand away, suddenly furious at her. He stood up, crossing his arms to contain his pounding heart. Water soaked through his shirtfront, but he was barely aware of it. Gods, what had happened to her in the war that would make her want to … What was he supposed to say?

Reaching for what he knew, he smirked and said, “You sure you want to do that? Stick around, sweetheart. We’ve been having such a good time.”

Confusion broke through the fury on her face and she cocked her head. Slick with water, her bare, bronzed shoulders peeking out of the suds, she was hard to look away from.

“I wasn’t trying to drown myself,” she said with casual incredulity, like she hadn’t been underwater for ten fucking minutes. Like she hadn’t scared the shit out of him.

First it was winning the fight against Splinter, then stepping in front of that flying dagger in the Devil’s Tongue, now this. Bryn was beginning to realise that Aela Rinn had absolutely no regard for her own safety.

“Whatever you say,” he replied dubiously, getting out of dodge by moving behind the screen. Aela’s clothes were slung over the wooden frame. He could see everything she’d worn tonight. Interesting.

Stop, you fucking deviant. He averted his eyes to the tiled floor and forced himself to stand still.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Can’t I stop by for a friendly chat?” he asked lightly. He’d thought she was dead; it was only fair to piss her off in return.

“Not in my washroom. Bathing’s not a spectator sport.”

It could be. He might have said it if she was an amenable partner, not Dunwyn’s most lethal soldier who was probably fantasising about all the ways to kill him with nothing but her naked body. He’d probably be too into it to stop her.

Fucking stop. What is wrong with you?

“And you can tell Splinter I’m fine after the fight and I thank him for his concern.”

Bryn bit down on a laugh at her heavy sarcasm. Of course she knew why he was here. She understood this place better than he had when he’d arrived. He should go. Instead, he found himself making conversation.

“He’s not happy. By the time Nula, Dagny, and I got to the warehouse, everything inside was gone. A dozen barrels of product, lost to Araxa Leren. They must be holding it somewhere in the city, but if Splinter’s got a plan to find it, he sure as hell hasn’t shared it with me. Still, it could’ve been worse, if not for Nula’s explosions in the tavern. She had good timing.”

“What did you say?” Aela’s tone transformed entirely, her fury evaporating into cold focus. 

There was another splash and a moment later, Bryn jumped, almost choking when she appeared in front of him. Covered - barely - by a towel, she seemed entirely oblivious to his intrusive presence now. Bryn had no idea what had happened in the last sixty seconds, but this wasn’t the impulsive, angry Aela Rinn from the tavern or the training room. This was the strategist who’d risen meteorically through the ranks to become commander of the Dunwyan army, the soldier who was responsible for single-handedly winning the Border War. He didn’t understand where her thoughts had taken her, but at some critical moment, she’d left him behind. 

“Move aside,” she barked.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, bewildered.

Aela stepped towards Bryn, close enough that he could reach out to trace a glancing touch across her shoulder. She reached up and yanked her clothes and weapons belt from the screen. Bryn went still as she pulled free her dagger, pressing the sharp tip into his damp shirt, pricking the delicate skin of his belly. Gods, maybe she was actually going to kill him.

Maybe he should let her.

His breath caught as he met those blue eyes again. They weren’t burning with rage, but alight with an intense focus that sent heat pooling in his gut … and lower. There was something about her that was so certain. Bryn would give anything to feel that sure of anything.

“Tell anyone I’ve left the house and I’ll kill you,” she said and rammed her shoulder into his as she pushed past him into the bedroom.

Bryn was rooted to the spot, stunned. She was leaving the house. At this time of night, that was a mistake. You didn’t go walking around Underground alone in the dark unless you wanted trouble, and it was quickly becoming apparent that Aela Rinn was a knife’s edge from getting herself killed at all times.

He couldn’t figure out why that bothered him so much.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, turning and heading for the armory.

He’d never chased a woman in his life and yet here he was, pursuing a soldier who wanted him dead through the slums of Anarchist Underground. He’d lost his mind.