CHAPTER 39: CAPTURING ARLOS [2]

"Didn’t you hear me?" The man’s grin vanished. Cold steel flashed in the dim tavern light—a knife, pressed against Oliver’s gut. His voice dropped to a growl. "You’re going to follow us."

"Alright, I will follow. Calm down," Oliver said, slowly raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grimy alleyway, and I could see the calculation flickering behind Oliver’s eyes. Of course he could easily dispatch these four street thugs—his hand hadn’t moved far from his sword hilt, and I’d witnessed firsthand the deadly precision he was capable of. But this ragged band of criminals represented our only concrete lead to Arlos, and Oliver was pragmatic enough to recognize that sometimes the best path forward required temporary submission.

"He’s coming as well," the brown-haired man saoid, jabbing his rusty knife in my direction with a crude grin that revealed several missing teeth.

"Wait. He’s my slave," he said, his tone carefully neutral though I caught the slight furrow in his brow.

"So what?" The man’s grin widened as his gaze roved over me with obvious interest. "He looks far too pretty for a mere slave. I want to see which noble house you stole him from." His companions chuckled at this.

I watched Oliver’s expression grow complicated, a storm of conflicting emotions playing across his feature.

He didn’t want to bring me into what was undoubtedly a dangerous situation.

But I wanted Arlos dead more than I wanted safety. I caught Oliver’s eye and gave him the slightest nod, hoping he could read the determination in my gaze.

After a long moment of hesitation, during which I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, Oliver released a heavy sigh. "Alright. But stop pointing that thing at me."

"What? Are you scared, beauty?" The brown-haired thug cackled, his three companions joining in with harsh laughter that echoed off the narrow alley walls.

Oliver’s expression remained impassive, though I noticed the slight tick in his jaw that suggested his patience was wearing thin. "Stay close," he whispered to me.

I nodded, my fingers instinctively moving to the collar around my neck where I’d hidden the key. The metal felt cold against my fingertips, and I resisted the urge to remove it immediately. Any sudden movements now could jeopardize our chance to catch Arlos before it truly began.

The four men led us through a maze of increasingly desolate streets, each turn taking us further from the respectable districts of the capital. The cobblestones grew more cracked and uneven, weeds pushing through the gaps. Broken shutters hung askew on run-down buildings, and the few people we passed scurried away quickly, avoiding eye contact. Even in a grand capital city, such forgotten corners always existed—places where authority’s reach grew thin and desperate people made desperate choices.

The smell grew worse as we walked: rotting garbage, stagnant water, and the underlying musk of too many people living in too small a space. I noticed Oliver’s posture subtly shift, his movements becoming more fluid and ready. He was preparing for trouble.

Several tense minutes later, we stopped before a small, crumbling house that looked ready to collapse at the next strong wind. The roof sagged dangerously, and several windows were boarded up with rotting planks. It was exactly the sort of place that authorities would overlook—unremarkable and forgettable.

"Walk," the brown haired man ordered, roughly shoving both Oliver and me toward the entrance as we looked at the building.

The interior was even worse than the exterior suggested. The floorboards creaked ominously underfoot, and the air was thick with dust and decay. I expected to see Arlos waiting for us, but the single room appeared empty save for a few pieces of broken furniture.

"What is this supposed to mean?" Oliver asked, his frown deepening as he surveyed the apparently vacant space.

"Shut up, will you?" The brown-haired man snapped before gesturing to his companions, who moved to a large, threadbare carpet in the center of the room.

They pulled it aside, revealing a hidden trapdoor cut into the floorboards. The wood around the opening was darker than the rest, stained with what I didn’t want to identify. When they lifted the heavy door, it revealed stone steps descending into blackness, and a musty smell wafted up from below.

"Get in," he ordered next.

Once again, we obeyed.

Even though knowing this was clearly a trap.

We walked through a dark, oppressive tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever. The walls were rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture, and I could hear things scurrying in the shadows just beyond our vision. The only illumination came from flickering torches mounted at irregular intervals.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, we could see brighter light ahead—the warm glow of multiple flames rather than the isolated torch lights we’d been following.

"Hey, Arlos!" The brown-haired man called out as we approached what appeared to be a much larger chamber. "Look what we found! Some guests who really wanted to see you!"

A slurred voice responded from ahead: "Huh? Please tell me they’re women. I could use some entertainment."

"Nah, just a boy and a man!" Our captor replied, and I could hear multiple voices breaking into coarse laughter.

But I was smirking widely, feeling a dark satisfaction settle in my chest like a warm coal. I couldn’t have been any luckier if I’d planned this myself. Our first lead hadn’t just been useful—it had brought us directly to our target.

We emerged into what could only be described as a makeshift underground headquarters. The chamber was larger than I’d expected, carved out of the living rock and reinforced with wooden beams. Crates and barrels were stacked along the walls, and several rough tables were scattered around the space. The air was thick with smoke from poorly ventilated fires and the smell of unwashed bodies.

And there, lounging on a battered sofa like some sort of underground king, was Arlos himself.

He was exactly as I remembered. A bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, and his clothes were rumpled and stained.

"Look what we brought you," the brown-haired man said, roughly shoving Oliver forward.

Arlos squinted at Oliver through the haze of alcohol, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Hmm... I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?" He mumbled, his words slightly slurred but his eyes beginning to sharpen with recognition.

Crap.

He probably remembered Oliver from when he’d kidnapped Judith. Oliver was sticking close to them after all.

"And we got ourselves a kid too," the brown-haired thug added with obvious pride, pushing me forward so hard that I stumbled and fell to my knees, keeping my head lowered as if in submission. "He’ll probably sell for a high price, pretty as he is."

I felt Arlos’s attention shift to me, and the quality of the silence in the room changed. When I slowly raised my gaze and let him see my distinctive pink eyes—now glowing with barely contained delight—I watched him instantly sober up as recognition hit him.

"Y...YOU IDIOTS!" He roared, surging to his feet and nearly dropping his bottle.

"It’s him, Arlos," I said quickly to Oliver.

Oliver gave a sharp nod, and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, his sword materialized in his hand with a sound like singing steel.

"What do you think you’re—" The man to Arlos’s left began, but he never had the chance to finish his question.

Oliver moved with the fluid precision of a master swordsman, his blade finding the man’s heart before the thug could even process what was happening. The underground chamber erupted into chaos as the man crumpled to the stone floor, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath him.

I didn’t waste the distraction. Sweeping my leg in a vicious arc, I caught the brown-haired leader behind the knees and sent him crashing to the ground with a satisfying thud.

"You little brat!" He snarled, trying to scramble back to his feet.

But I was already moving, my fingers working quickly to unlock the collar around my neck. The moment it came free, I hurled it directly at his face with all the force I could muster.

"Nggaah!" he groaned, his hands flying up to his bloodied nose, but I wasn’t finished with him yet.

The hunter knife I’d concealed at my waist slid into my palm like it belonged there. When the brown-haired man saw the blade gleaming in the torchlight, his eyes went wide with terror.

"W...wait!" He stammered, his earlier bravado completely evaporated. "Please, I was just following orders—"

I didn’t let him finish his pathetic plea. The knife slid between his ribs with surprising ease, finding the space between bones with the precision of long practice. He let out a choked cry that faded into a wet gurgle before his eyes went glassy and still.

Turning around, I saw Oliver engaged in a deadly clash with six men simultaneously. Despite being outnumbered, he moved quite easily. Parrying a clumsy thrust here, delivering a precise cut there—it was like watching art in motion.

Now I understood why Queen Emma had chosen to send only Oliver to accompany me on this. The man was worth a dozen ordinary soldiers, and I realized he had definitely been holding back against me. This was the level of skill that earned someone a place in the Queen’s personal guard.

I turned my attention to Arlos, who had stood up from his sofa and was backing away toward what appeared to be another tunnel entrance. His face had gone pale, and his hands shook as he looked between Oliver’s deadly ballet and my own handiwork.

"It’s been a while, Arlos," I said, allowing my smile to show all the dark satisfaction I’d been carrying since that day. "Did you miss me?"

"You damn brat!"

Arlos’s voice tore through the room, rough with fury. His hand flew to the hilt at his side, and in a flash, a sword gleamed under the flickering lamplight. His eyes, wild with hatred, locked onto me—and then he charged.

But this time, I was ready.

The last encounter had nearly cost me my life. I had tasted the bitter edge of death, and it taught me something I would never forget: hesitation was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Arlos swung his sword down in a fast, vicious arc.

I didn’t flinch. I watched. Waited. Listened to the rhythm of the moment—and then moved.

Steel rang against steel as I raised my dagger to meet his blade. The force of the strike jolted through my arm, made my bones sing, but I held firm. Pain could wait. I twisted my weight and launched a punch with my left hand toward his side.

But Arlos caught it with ease.

And that was exactly what I wanted.

I looked him dead in the eye and whispered, "Water Magic—Burst."

SPLAAASH!

A surge of water exploded from my palm, blasting into Arlos with raw force. The spell flung him backward like a sack of grain, and he crashed hard into a sofa behind him, knocking it sideways with a loud crack.

I didn’t stop to admire it.

I bolted forward, closing the distance in an instant.

Arlos groaned, lifting his head weakly—just in time to grab a bottle from the side table and hurl it straight at my face.

My eyes widened. I didn’t have time to dodge. I brought my arm up to shield myself.

The bottle shattered against my forearm. Shards of glass sliced through skin, drawing hot blood and stinging pain, but I didn’t slow. My body burned, but my mind was cold.

With all the strength I had, I swung my leg and kicked him straight in the gut. He grunted as the air left him, and the sofa beneath him gave another groan as it splintered. His fingers loosened around the hilt of his sword.

I moved fast, straddling him before he could recover. My dagger was raised. My breath was slightly ragged from the adrenaline. My arm ached. But my eyes—my eyes were ice.

"You’re dead," I said smirking.

Arlos met my gaze with a glare filled with pure loathing. "You fucked-up monster."

I smirked wider at the insult.

But just as I began to bring the blade down, my wrist jerked to a halt.

Someone had grabbed it.

The tip of the dagger stopped an inch above Arlos’s chest, trembling in the space between life and death.

It was Oliver.

He stood beside me now, his other hand stained and bruised, proof enough that he had already taken care of the rest of Arlos’s men.

He met my eyes. "We need him alive."

I stared at him. "I need him dead."

It wasn’t anger in my voice—it was purpose. I needed to erase the threat, ensure that he could never hurt anyone I cared about again.

Oliver glanced down at Arlos, then without a word, delivered a heavy punch to the side of his head. The man’s body went limp beneath me, unconscious.

Only then did Oliver release my wrist.

"He’s not a threat anymore," he said. "We’ll handle him. But he wasn’t working alone. Whoever gave him the order—they are the real danger. And they might know about you. And Millbrook."

I lowered the dagger slowly.

I hated it, but I understood.

"We’ll get answers from him," Oliver said. "And after that... he’ll pay. You’re not the only one who wants him punished. Queen Emma is furious—furious enough to demand his death herself. But she wants him alive long enough to bring down everyone else connected to this."

I exhaled, letting the words settle into me

"Fine," I said. "But make sure he doesn’t slip away."

"He won’t," Oliver promised.

Within minutes, the other knights of Briaran arrived. It turned out they had been following us from a distance all along, ready to intervene if things went wrong. With swift efficiency, they cleared the room, restrained Arlos, and took him into custody.

The place quieted, the echo of chaos fading into silence.

And with Arlos lying unconscious, the knot of resentment that had haunted me since the day he escaped began to finally loosen.

As Oliver had said, the Queen was not the forgiving type. No one who dared abduct her daughter would be shown mercy. Arlos’s fate was sealed—it was just a matter of time.

Still, something gnawed at me.

What if Oliver was right? What if Arlos had spoken to someone else? Had he revealed who I was? Did someone more dangerous now know of me, of Millbrook?

I could only hope that fear remained unfounded.

But whether or not Arlos had shared my secret, one thing was clear:

His part in the story was over.