Lately there had been more rain than dry weather; even now, as Etienne Richelieu sat up in bed and fumbled for a cigarette, he could hear the water rattling down the outside of his bedroom window. It distracted him, and for that the corvin was glad; like nearly everyone else in the Ring, he had a lot to be distracted from.
Three of their best men dead. Three men dead in as many days. It would have been unthinkable if it hadn't been so horribly real.
Zylander Nighthawk, whose only crime had been that he'd given Angela Featherstorm a modicum of happiness, an affection she'd never had from her husband. Eliot Landsfeather, who'd made the mistake of finding Talon gloating over Zylander's body. And Bane Darkplume, the most unnecessary of all...he'd watched his lover die, and then had mistakenly sought Talon in DuCaine City, wanting vengeance for himself and for Angela...and when it became apparent that vengeance would elude him, he'd simply come back to his quarters in the Labyrinth and blown his brains out with the nearest pistol-not at all hard for a man whose specialty was weapons. He'd left no note-but then, he hadn't needed to. The entire Ring knew what he'd done, and why.
And Talon loves it, Richelieu thought sourly. He loves it! Because he thinks we're afraid of him...too afraid to think for ourselves, too afraid to leave...and he's mostly right.
He pitied Talon's children. Apparently Talon never laid a finger on the girl, Alexia, but he never had a kind word for her either; Richelieu had overheard some of his invective in their training sessions, and in the back of his mind he was tempted to wonder how long it had taken Lexi to realize that her name wasn't stupid little bitch.
But Talon's son, Alexander...God, everyone could tell the boy suffered. No wonder he'd attempted to kill Talon...no wonder Angela wished so fervently that his nerve hadn't given out. Alex came to breakfast in the mornings regularly with the stiffness and bruising that spoke of a beating, and that chip that had come in his beak recently hadn't been the result of a clumsy fall.
But Talon hadn't seen fit to stop there, apparently, because Richelieu himself had watched Alex walk into the mess hall just the other morning, the morning after Eliot and Zylander's murder, and the boy had moved in a way that bespoke a very particular soreness.
His father. Richelieu sucked on his cigarette viciously. Dear God, his own father....
He flung the bedclothes back abruptly and got to his feet, crushed out his cigarette and lit a second from the ashes, and began to pace the floor.
He pitied the children. But they were children, they were young, they could get out. They had the will, and soon they would be old enough to have the way.
No. There was only one person in this shithole who was helpless, who was bound, who wouldn't see daylight if someone didn't help her-and it was for her that Etienne Richelieu's heart ached.
Angela.
He'd never thought of himself as being in love with her, not really, but he couldn't deny that it was easy to care about her.
It was true that Talon was the leader of the Ring, and that his position gave Angela a certain power, a certain respect, all her own. But beneath that power and that respect she was a frail thing, fragile as a china doll. She might have blossomed, been a strong woman, if Talon had ever shown her the least kindness, but her husband was careful to avoid that. He wanted her pliant, subservient, fearful, as the rest of the Ring was fearful.
There was resistance in her; they'd all seen it, in the way she'd stood up to Talon after young Alex had tried to kill him. But it was the smallest fraction, and steadily growing smaller, smaller, with every bruise and every tear. It was almost as if she were wasting away in front of everyone.
And the entire Ring was too afraid of Talon to try and help her.
Except me, Richelieu said to himself. I'm not afraid of you, Talon, no matter how much of a bastard you try to make yourself. And God damn it, I'm going to do something for that woman, even if you won't.
He lit himself another cigarette and started to get dressed.
Many of the Ring's members resented Talon, but for Richelieu the resentment was very, very personal.
It had been ten years since his wife Therese had died giving birth to their daughter, but the pain still bit into him like it was yesterday.
No, not the pain, not really; the anger. He'd known for a long time that his wife wasn't a healthy woman and might not survive her pregnancy, but it had been a risk they'd both agreed to take...a risk that had been realized when Therese, after a long and difficult labor, had given birth to a stillborn girl, and then started hemorrhaging violently less than an hour later.
Talon, of course, had wanted to blame Therese's death on Zylander Nighthawk; but Richelieu himself knew that the raptrin, in light of the Ring's poor facilities and outdated equipment, had done all he could.
No, more. Zylander had at least tried to be comforting and supportive. It had been Talon who had come up to Richelieu days later, when he was still numb with the shock, and clapped him on the shoulder and said, Buck up, Richelieu, it was only a girl.
Only a girl? Was that how Talon felt about his own daughter? Richelieu had heard a rumor, years back when the Featherstorm twins were born, that Talon had wanted Lexi killed at birth because of her sex. At the time he'd doubted it, assuring himself that no man, even Talon, could be that heartless, but he'd since come to know better.
His reverie had led him to Talon and Angela's quarters, and Richelieu eyed the door speculatively. There were no signs of light within, as was the case when Talon or the children were present-though Talon was gone more often than not, these days. Either the apartment was empty, or Angela was alone, surrounded by the darkness she was gradually learning to welcome.
He knocked; and after a long tense moment the door slid open.
"I'm sorry, I-" Angela began, and stopped. "Oh. Oh, it's you, Etienne." Her blue eyes were instantly fearful. "You shouldn't be here."
"I need to talk to you," he said gently; and when he eased past her, inside, she made no effort to stop him. "Where's Talon? Where are the children?"
"Talon left two hours ago, going to Black Harbor." For once Angela wasn't crying, but her voice had a hollow, wooden tone. "He won't be back for a few days. And the children-"
Her face contorted in sudden agony, and Richelieu understood. "He sent them out."
"To-to the Heights." Her voice had risen to a whine. Richelieu half wanted to put his arms around her, cosset her like a child, but she had a strange wild look about her, as if she'd bolt if he touched her.
"Angela," he began, "Angela, you shouldn't stay here all the time, you're alone too much-"
"Where can I go?" she demanded. "How can I get away from him? He's going to kill me, Etienne, just like Landy and Eliot, I know-"
"Angela-" He took her by the shoulders. "Angela, for God's sake-"
"Why?" she screamed at him. "Tell me why, Etienne! Tell me what kind of man makes his own children murder!"
"I don't know." He gathered her close, holding her tightly when she struggled against him.
"Calm down, Angela, please calm down...I'm here, right here, you're not alone."
She started to cry. Richelieu walked her over to an overstuffed chair, sank into it and pulled her onto his lap, rocking her like a child, and after a little while she quieted.
"I wish I'd never married him," she whispered at last. "Things were different back then, Etienne. He was different. I-I loved him once."
A shudder went through her when she said it. "I know," Richelieu murmured, "I know you did." God, what kind of man takes a woman like this and tries to destroy her? he thought, and heard himself say, "You could leave. You need to leave."
"No!" It was almost another scream. "No! I won't leave my children!"
"Then take them with you," Richelieu pleaded. "Come on, Angela. You can't live this way. They can't live this way. You said yourself that Talon wouldn't be back for a few days-would it be such a stretch for him to come back and find you gone?"
"He'd find me," she whispered.
"The world's a big place." Richelieu hugged her tighter. "I'm trying to help you, Angela."
"That's what Bane said," she muttered, "and you see what happened to him! Don't endanger yourself for my sake, Etienne."
"I've got no one else to endanger myself for."
"You-" She looked at him, touched his face tentatively, then sank against him with a sigh.
"I loved Zylander," she said. "I still love him. But I-Etienne, I need-"
"I know." He slid his arms beneath her body, cradled her against his chest as he stood up. "You don't have to say it. I know."
"Of course Angela thinks I'm in Black Harbor." Even over the telephone, Talon sounded irritated. "That mindless little slut believes everything I tell her. What is it this time?"
"Oh...." Had anyone been there to see it, Tetra Rainfeather's smile would have been very nasty indeed. "Let's just say that I watched one Etienne Richelieu walk into your quarters two hours ago, and I'm still waiting to watch him walk out."
"Richelieu?" Talon repeated. "Well. I must admit that's a surprise."
"Yes." Tetra's smile widened. "Do you want me to drop in unannounced?"
"No." Talon chuckled darkly. "Never mind that for now. I'll take care of Angela soon enough. Gather the others and proceed with your orders."