Foul Heart Huntsman (Foul Lady Fortune, #2)

by Chloe Gong

Jiemin stared her down. Alisa didn’t flinch. It was near impossible to intimidate Alisa Montagova when she had a level of self-importance that inflated up to the sky, and anyone who tried only wasted their time.

“You got on some restaurant owner’s bad side in 1926. He had a whole spiel of slander prepared about you and your lack of respect for chairs. Apparently you threw one and broke it.” Rosalind winced. “That was actually my cousin’s doing.” “He also said you called his hat ugly.” “Fair. That was me.”

Even as the clamoring noise faded, she hardly dared release the immense exhale that strained inside her lungs. Rosalind only shifted in her seat to face the front again, her shoulders tense and hunched into herself. The vehicle jolted, passing a bump in the road and weaving into heavier traffic. While Silas and Phoebe resumed their conversation, Rosalind silently reached her hand toward the other side of the back seat, hovering in the empty space there. Then she set her hand down, upon nothing.

Silas and Phoebe both froze, twin looks of guilt flashing across their faces as if they had been caught with their hands down each other’s shirts. Genuine amusement almost made Rosalind smile, but her next instinct was to look beside her to catch Orion’s eye, and then it hit her all over again that he wasn’t here.

“Stop,” Rosalind said plainly. Her arm hurt. Her body hurt. “You won’t win this.” One of the men opened fire again. This one—it was aimed right into her chest. Sank to where her heart was, already throbbing and raw and red. She had spent these past few weeks locked inside, told to sit in wait while people who hated her circled like vultures, and what was the point? Her heart had been hurting long before these bullets. It would keep on hurting even after this bullet was pushed out too, landing as emphatically as a teardrop shaped like death. Rosalind touched her chest. Softly traced her finger along the hole that had been torn into her qipao, the fabric singed and soaked in blood. Underneath, the wound pulsated. Ran vivid with red, coloring her clothing. “Fine,” she said. She reached into her pocket. Slowly, she started to walk toward the two remaining men, her posture changing. “For old times’ sake, since you refuse to leave me alone.” She took her coin out. A second passed. Enough time for her attackers to register what the object was. When her thumb caught the edge of the coin, sending it up in the air, the man on the left turned and ran. The one on the right, however, remained a beat longer. Before the coin could finish tumbling through the air, he finally pivoted on his heel, abandoning his mission. It was too late now. Now Rosalind wanted blood. She gave chase, barely bothering to glance down and see what the coin had landed on. There was a voice in her head that told...

It’s never too late for rage to erupt on the scene, though. That’s something to remember about men: the trickiest ones know how to hide their temper, so one should never assume the absence of anger equates kindness.

Rosalind paused on the last letter. It was yellowed at the edges. An older one, dated from two years ago. She stops at nothing to do what’s right. I’m proud of her. I think you would be too. Before she realized what she was doing, Rosalind had thrown that letter into the fireplace.

She turned a corner. Her hands shook. This was such typical behavior for her. Let anything land in her grasp, and she turned to the fire without thinking.

September sees Manchuria snatched in the north. So January sees a volatile readiness storming fast along Suzhou Creek, snarling at Hongkou, where the Japanese Empire has put most of its residents.

It would only be good warfare to ram a car into her while she was touring and take a propaganda figure away from the Nationalists.

His unflinching friendship with Orion was what kept him sane. Orion would talk about his family. Silas would talk about his. The difference was, terribly, that Silas missed them more and more with each passing year, but Orion had started to notice that something wasn’t quite right with his.

“My mother is not like yours,” Orion said once. The stars were bright that night. Easily traceable for their constellations. “She cares for me in a way that seems like there is an ultimate purpose. Like I mustn’t slip, or else some invisible strike will be made against me on a scoreboard I cannot see.”

He wanted to offer his help until the end of time. He regarded Orion as one of his favorite people, the one who smoothed over the pit of emptiness that opened inside Silas every once in a while. A hand closed on his elbow. Silas jumped, taken aback, but Phoebe didn’t even react to his awkward lurch, more focused on leaning in to see the photo he had opened to. “What is that?” Orion was not Phoebe. Orion was a comfort. Phoebe was… He didn’t even know how to describe Phoebe. An ever-expanding supernova. A hurricane that changed worlds and remade them.

What he did remember was his quick, “Wait!” and the girl pausing between the two heavy doors. He remembered the orange sunlight coming down from the clouds and her brown eyes practically golden in the haze. This was the age when he had started noticing people. And this girl was the first who had triggered a curious feeling in his stomach and a weightlessness in his chest. Stirrings of interest, the most innocent kind that came with simple yearnings for the brush of a hand or the nudge of a shoulder. “What’s your name?” he asked, switching back to French. The girl cast a small smile over her shoulder. “My name is Rosalind.” She gave a wave. “It’s all right if you forget me. Au revoir.”

“The Japanese. Who else?” the first soldier says. “It’s already starting, and they’re not letting us fight yet.” Who else? Funny. There are actually quite a lot else.

“Unless the next set of soldiers has taken the night off,” Silas said, “there should be one more control point.” Their car rumbled from the rougher streets onto proper, large roads. A rhythmic chanting drifted through the night. When Phoebe rolled down her window, the cries of the protest were close enough that audible words entered the car. “Boycott! Boycott! No more accommodating Japanese interests!” “I don’t think they all took the night off.”

He thought of Celia. Then he thought of nothing at all.

When Silas was so prone to catastrophizing, anything less always threw him off.

“Hello,” Orion said slowly. He climbed out of the car. “I apologize that I don’t remember who you are, but as long as we weren’t lovers, I am sure I can make amends somehow.” Silas choked on a laugh. “I am far too young for you.” He held his arms forward, grabbing Orion in a firm squeeze. Orion, despite not knowing anything about Silas at present, returned the gesture just as strongly. “We’re all very glad you are alive.” “Me too,” Orion replied quietly.

Last she saw, Orion had chosen the bathtub for a sleeping spot. He had mostly clambered in as a joke, but then Rosalind had scoffed and told him that it would be terribly uncomfortable to sleep in a bathtub. To prove her wrong, of course, he had settled in nicely and closed his eyes.

Orion’s sudden grin was something radiant. As if he had achieved something by remembering what she hadn’t, and for a moment—only a moment—Rosalind wondered if it would be so bad if he never got his memories back, if they simply chose to start again from the very beginning. When he was like this, he didn’t feel the hurt of his mother using him, didn’t wear that sad anger from fighting his brother at every turn.

Silas suddenly sounded very bitter. Rosalind winced, looking away so Silas wouldn’t see her pity. These last months, he had spent so much time and energy chasing Priest with the assumption that she could help get Orion back, only for Priest to remain entirely uninvolved with Orion’s rescue.

lol

Rosalind pinned her scrutiny across the room, waiting patiently for Phoebe’s reaction. This was her own brother trapped in the cells. This was one of her closest confidants coming up with a plan that valued an ulterior motive—that let Silas catch a girl who had evaded him for months—instead of staying a sole focus rescue mission. Surely Phoebe had something to say about this. Yet Rosalind observed nothing.

The most likely culprit is my mother, and it doesn’t sound like she would hurt her.” “Hold on,” Silas cut in, overhearing Orion’s remark. “What happened to Feiyi?” “We don’t know,” Rosalind snapped. “Maybe if you were less concerned about catching Priest, you would have seen her reporting to headquarters. Lady Hong is in the city. Her soldiers tried to go after Phoebe.” “All right, darling.” Orion got ahold of her arms at once, running his hands up and down in a soothing motion. “In the car.” Silas blinked. Once. Twice. He was entirely unfazed by Rosalind losing her temper on him. There was no trace of offense in his expression—there was only shock and terror. Maybe he knew that there was no need for him to react in the wrong anyway. It was Rosalind who had left her. Rosalind who had hurried to get back to the safe house, abandoning Phoebe to flee on her own. “You mean to say her mother came after her?” “I mean to say she probably has her.” “But… but how…?”

“Mon Dieu,” Rosalind muttered, watching Alisa scamper out of view. “Are we sure she isn’t superhuman too?” “Maybe she was born with spider genetics,” Celia added. “I was thinking cat.” “Have we checked for a tail?” Orion blinked rapidly. “We’re joking, right?” he asked. “Please tell me we’re joking.” Rosalind patted his arm. “I hope to the high heavens that we are joking.”

Whether or not she made it out of here alive was up to fate now. Phoebe had made her peace with it—Priest was never supposed to be an eternal deity. She had only been created to serve the people she loved. Phoebe touched her ear. She said, “I’m going dark. I’ll be all right,” then pulled her wire out, dropping it to the floor before any of the soldiers could confiscate it. When the soldiers circled her, Phoebe pressed her foot over the earpiece and felt it break in two. “Hands up, Priest,” one said. “It’s over.” She didn’t reach for the trigger again. She set the rifle down and put her hands up. I’m going dark. I’ll be all right. Rosalind didn’t understand what had just happened. When she spoke into the earpiece again, she didn’t get a response from Phoebe, nor from any of the others. They must have gone out of range.

cannot believe you,” Rosalind gasped. What she had intended as a rebuke came out as a sob. “You taught me Fortune could survive anything!” Even though she knew that hit would have been fatal. Even though she knew he had just saved her life. Still, she demanded, “Why didn’t you let me take it? Of all people, Fortune can take it.” Dao Feng gave a small shake of his head. Blood bubbled up to his lips. Dripped one line down the side. “I was not protecting Fortune,” he managed. “I was protecting Lang Shalin. You… are a person first and an operative… second. How many times have I taught you that?”

Silas could feel his pulse pounding in his throat. It wasn’t as if he was nervous. It was hard to describe what he was, because the culmination of so much work was cresting to this result in front of him, yet if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure what this result would bring him. Priest’s capture wouldn’t be any help getting Orion back anymore. Priest’s capture alone couldn’t help them win the civil war. He needed to see her. That was all. He needed to know that he had a purpose in this city, and he was capable of achieving it. Silas walked toward the cell. The radio in his hands buzzed. “Shepherd, report.” A burst of static. He ignored it. Priest was in the corner. Dressed in black, just as his friends had been when they broke in too. “Hello,” he said. “You will have to forgive me for deceiving you like this. It was a matter of necessity.” “I could have.” Priest’s voice was a shock. Much sweeter than he expected. Much more… familiar than he could have guessed. She still had her back to him, facing the corner of the cell. “But is this the worst that you’ve done?” “Shepherd. Shep… come in… Shepherd?” Silas turned the radio off, sheer incomprehension slowing his movements. He knew this silhouette. He knew exactly who was standing before him. There had been a mistake. They had caught the wrong person, made a mix-up inside the facility when the soldiers were pursuing intruders. Silas gripped the bars. “Don’t worry,” he said in a rush. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.” ...

“Hold my hand,” Alisa huffed from ahead, extending her arm. “What? Why?” Despite her confusion, Rosalind reached out anyway and grabbed Alisa’s hand. “Do you see something?” “No.” They hurtled past the next hallway. “I’m offering emotional support.” The situation was so ludicrous that Rosalind almost laughed. Except it seemed any sort of strong response triggered the twist in her throat, because she let out another sob instead.

“Just look at what happened,” Celia hissed. “You gave yourself up for me, and you got hurt for it. I already have a problem with your secret-keeping, Oliver. I already have a problem with you deciding to shake the world and catching me up afterward. I won’t let you do the same when it comes to your life.” By the look in Oliver’s eyes, it seemed that he was cycling through a thousand different thoughts at once, trying to choose only one response. Celia had gotten so caught up in telling him off that she forgot to be afraid of his scrutiny, and now she was staring back at him with equal brazenness. “Why?” Oliver asked. “Why what?” Celia returned. She really ought to move away. She was starting to lose track of her own thoughts. “Why won’t you let me do with my life as I please?” Celia wanted to strangle him. She wanted to pull apart his head and take a good look around to figure out why he would ask such questions. “Because I know you,” she snapped. “I know what sort of burden-bearing paragon you are. And I refuse to be the reason you act counter to everything you believe in and end up dead because you put me above everything else.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked. “That loving you is a death sentence?”

“You betrayed us! You’re working with my mother!” Silas reared back. He didn’t deny it. “We’re exchanging crimes now, are we?” His volume was rising too. “Warehouse 34 was you. Each of those notes was you. You let me believe in Priest when all along you knew better.” “And didn’t I try to tell you?” Phoebe returned. “I warned you off her from the very beginning.” “You could have said why.” “No, I couldn’t.” Phoebe snatched her arm back. The inside of her elbow was stinging, but she didn’t know where she had scratched it. “You would have turned me in. You would have gone running to your superiors immediately.” His jaw twitched. He almost appeared offended at her claim. “I wouldn’t have.” “You goddamn”—Phoebe kicked the bars—“liar!” Her echo rang through the whole cell block. Silas turned away then, facing the other wall and sending his arduous sigh in that direction. “Fair that you don’t know me,” he said. He was trying to keep his temper in check. He was trying not to break apart the dynamic they had known their entire lives, but Phoebe had arrived with a hammer, and she was intent on shattering it utterly. “Apparently I know nothing about you either. How much was feigned, Feiyi? How much more have you lied about?”

“To tell the truth,” Silas said, “at some point I stopped thinking about bringing Priest in as a matter of the mission. A fanatic, twisted part of me just wanted to meet her. The girl who kept slipping from my grasp. The girl who laughed at a joke she told while passing classified information.” He paused. Swallowed. “You were right. There was no reality where finding Priest would have helped us get Orion back. I was trying to fool myself. Justify my own longing.”

Celia caught up to her, wrapping an arm around her head and clamping a hand to her mouth. “I should have absorbed you in the womb.”

Celia hesitated. For a moment, Alisa feared that Celia would insist on bringing her along anyway. Her superior must have realized, though, that taking Alisa somewhere she didn’t want to go would be the equivalent of wrangling with an upset cat, so she nodded.

“Hit me.” Phoebe gawped at him. “Excuse me?” “Make it look realistic. I’ll tell them you forced me to find you an exit and then discarded me. Hit hard.” “You are insane,” Phoebe hissed. “Come on,” Silas prompted. The facility shook. If they dawdled any longer, the whole thing might collapse overhead. “Priest would do it.” Phoebe’s jaw dropped. He did not just say that. He absolutely did not. “Do not tell me what Priest would or wouldn’t do.” “Why not?” Silas challenged. He almost looked humored. “She would. That’s why she’s so likable.” Phoebe resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I can’t believe,” she seethed, “how stupid you are to think you like her.” “I do.” “You’re mistaken!” A low, persistent whine was seeping down the corridors. Though Phoebe and Silas practically had to scream to be heard, their conversation felt enswathed, unaffected by the world falling apart. Silas watched her for a beat. Seemed to register that she was genuinely offended by what he was saying. “Are you being serious?” he finally asked. She drew her spine dead straight. “Obviously.”

“I’m taking him,” Rosalind snapped. She eased her hand beneath his head. Leaned in and told him: “Your life is mine as mine is yours—do you understand me? You are not allowed to die.” Lourens tried to stop her, his expression marred by defeat. Only as soon as he placed his hand on Orion’s chest in an effort to keep him down, to prevent Rosalind from acting wildly, he paused, his entire demeanor changing. Rosalind froze too. A moment passed. “Lourens?” she asked shakily. “Why do you look like that?” He blinked. Lourens didn’t respond for a while, as if he were considering whether he might be mistaken. Then he said, “He’s stabilizing.” He hurried to fetch his stethoscope again. Pressed it to Orion’s chest, listening. “Oh,” Lourens concluded quietly. “Oh, I understand.” And then… Then Orion’s eyes opened. “Who was yelling at me?” he rasped. “I heard it all the way in the afterlife.” Rosalind was glad she had left the chair lingering around. She practically collapsed right into it, so many various emotions rushing through her chest that she could articulate nothing except a long, silent scream. “Who do you think?” she managed. “It sounded like my wife.”

Fortune unhealing. Huntsman without the strength. The very world seemed to hold its breath at this change in its nature, but no skies were falling, and the ground remained even. Now they were mere people, civilians plucked off the streets.