The Gembound: The Price of Keeping Chapter 14: Chapter 13 — The Horror

Read chapter 14 of The Gembound: The Price of Keeping by Taliorn on NovelPedia.

Chapter 13 — The Horror She climbed down from the roof the way she always did—slow, careful, using tiles that still held. The Scion padded below, a dark heat moving through alleys. The Gem pulled her forward like a rope around her ribs, dragging her toward Scribe's Row whether she wanted to go or not. When she dropped to the parapet and looked back, Runewick lay like a wound: ragged edges, smoke-pale, the temple's dead light making every window an accusing eye. Scribe's Row smelled of old paper and burned fat. The barracks had become a knot of boarded doors and barricade timber. Life clustered here—she could feel it through the bond, dozens of heartbeats packed close together behind those walls. The Gem strained toward them like a starving dog catching the scent of meat. "Not the civilians," she whispered. "Just the soldiers. That's the deal." I make no deals. "Then I do." Her jaw clenched. "Soldiers only. They've earned it." She told herself that was true. Told herself she remembered the boot that had kicked her away from the baker's stall last winter. The guard who'd laughed when she'd begged for help after someone stole her coin purse. The one who'd grabbed her wrist so hard it bruised, checking her for theft she hadn't committed. Street trash. That's what they'd called her. Hellborn filth. They'd never cared if she lived or died. So why should she care now? The thought sat sour in her stomach, but she held onto it anyway. It was better than the alternative. Better than admitting she was just hunting whoever the Gem wanted, choosing victims by convenience instead of justice. She moved down into the square as light thinned. Someone had built a barricade of barrels and overturned carts. A few lamps burned in iron cages, sputtering and green-tinged. Three soldiers stood guard. Young men in rusted mail and dented helms, soot marking their armor. The leftmost held a crossbow. The middle gripped a short sword. The third—taller, older around the eyes—rested his hand on a spear planted in the cobbles. Behind them, she could hear it: quiet voices. A child crying. Someone coughing. The civilians they were protecting. Yara crouched behind a broken fountain, the Scion curling beside her in the smoke. Heat rolled off its scales. Three soldiers. She could take them. Feed the Gem. Get strong enough to keep going. And the people they were guarding would be fine—she'd leave them alone, walk away, let them hide in peace. Just the soldiers. That was all she needed. Three will barely satisfy. The dozen behind them would fill us properly. "No." She said it out loud, firm. "The soldiers. Nothing else." The Gem pulsed, displeased but accepting. For now. She studied the men. They spoke quietly among themselves, too low to hear clearly. One gestured toward the barricade. Another shook his head. They looked tired. Scared. Human. Just like the looter had looked human. Just like she'd let him go. But these were different. These were guards. They'd chosen to wear that armor, carry those weapons, enforce the Regent's laws that kept people like her starving in the gutters. They'd made their choice. Now she'd make hers. She needed them away from the civilians. Separated. Where feeding wouldn't endanger anyone else. "Drop your weapons!" she called, stepping into view. Her voice carried thin through the ash. If they ran, she could chase. Pick them off one by one, away from the barricade. Away from the people hiding behind it. If they stayed and fought, she'd have to be more careful. Precise. Make sure the blast didn't spread to whoever was sheltering in those buildings. Either way, she told herself, it would just be the soldiers. Just the ones who'd earned it. The soldiers spun. The first one jerked his crossbow up, bolt wobbling as his hands shook. The second raised his sword, but held it wrong—too high, too tense. The third planted his spear and didn't move, staring at her with wide eyes. "Wait—wait—" The one with the spear stepped forward, hand raised. "