TROUBLE , kaz brekker

xx. everyone is motivated by spite.

CHAPTER TWENTY

AS ECHO FELT HER lungs grow heavier and heavier with each breath, her only thought was that Nikolai Lantsov better be fucking grateful.

Forget money. She wanted a palace. Actually, a country. She wanted a country. Queen Echo Caddel had a lovely ring to it and maybe then she could rationalise the sheer quantity of injuries she had sustained trying to keep her friend's homeland from collapsing in on itself. She'd give democracy a try, maybe, when the sheer exhaustion of it all had worn off.

Neyar (Saran? Ohval? What did a supposed Saint care for names?) led her and Jesper deeper into her labyrinthine home than Echo and Kaz had cared to search. Her own gait was stumbling and irregular as she strived to not only keep up with the Sharpshooter and the Saint but also some pretence of strength.

But it was after her third stumble that Jesper had taken a moment to turn to her. He was a pace or two ahead, his long steps outpacing her sluggish, narrow ones. He looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Echo said, though she wasn't and he knew it.

The Sharpshooter frowned. "You look pale."

"I'm always pale."

"Paler, then."

Echo frowned. "You always know how to make the ladies smile, Jesper."

The Sharpshooter chuckled, absentmindedly, then remembered their precarious situation and his smile melted into nerves, alive and jittering as he surveyed the Saint ahead. If Neyar had noticed their quiet musings, she didn't react. In fact, she barely let her features move outside the boundaries of total and utter calm. For someone who relied heavily on reading the emotions of other's to survive, Echo could not say this brought her any great comfort.

But Neyar stopped outside one of her countless rooms and comfort became a foregone conclusion. She turned a heavy key in an old iron lock and stepped inside.

Echo and Jesper exchanged a solemn glance. The redhead's head pounded. She fought back a hiss.

"You first." She muttered between gritted teeth, nudging Jesper with a tired jab of her boot.

He nudged her back. "I'll add it to the list of things you owe me." And then ducked his gangly frame under the door because Echo could remind him that he did, in fact, owe her alot more.

The room itself was nothing fancy, nothing amounting to the hidden extravagance of the plethora of rooms Echo had trialled on her mission to find the Disciple. This one was full of cobwebs, more a forgotten museum archive than storage for the most deadly weapon since the Sun Summoner.

In the centre, Neyar had her arms folded across her chest. Clumps of dust swirled in the air around her, disturbed for the first time since it had settled.

The three of them waited, in perpetual silence.

"Are you going to give us the Neshyenyer?"Echo asked, her eyes narrowed with caution.

The Saint let her gaze fall to Jesper, who, in his childlike curiosity, had just knocked a hundred year old painting off the wall. It hit the floor with a dull thud. "I'm going to give him the Neshyenyer."