Chapter 6
Damia
Ssss…coasssst isss clear…Ssss
Thanks, Barb. I let my magic carry the message to her as I step around the corner to find an empty corridor.
Well, empty except for the little serpent making her way along the edge of the far wall, acting as my lookout.
I know this palace like the back of my hand, but that doesn’t mean I know everyone’s movements inside it.
There’s no guarantee I won’t encounter anyone on the way to the captain’s quarters.
And when I’m carrying a message from Harman Sandale, the leader of the Hand of Ralus, I’d really rather not meet any of Respen’s men.
I can guarantee the king has that rat Velrir, and others like him, sniffing around, hoping to catch wind of where we’ve all been the last few months—and what we’ve been up to.
Technically, the king’s security has the right to search any of us if they suspect we might be hiding some threat to the monarch.
Velrir’s done it before just to show us he could—and because if he can’t take his hate out on the captain directly, Velrir can at least make his soldiers suffer for it.
I smile at the memory of them discovering Barb the last time they tried that. She’d very much enjoyed leaving a pair of deep puncture marks in the nosy man’s finger.
I have to be careful that the message doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. As far as we’re aware, Respen doesn’t know about Morgana’s connection to the Hand, and I’d like to keep it that way.
There’s movement in a shadowy corner, and I grip my knife. Then the darkness parts, and Corrin steps toward me.
“Don’t you know how to make a man feel welcome,” he says, nodding at the hold I have on my blade.
I release my hand, shooting an annoyed look at Barb’s tail disappearing round the corner.
I thought you said the coast was clear? I snap at the serpent.
Ssss…you sssaid look out for enemiessss…thisss one is a friend…
I roll my eyes at my snake’s weird obsession with Corrin and straighten up.
“One of these days, Wadestaff, you’re going to learn the hard way that creeping around in dark corners isn’t healthy for you,” I say, turning and continuing down the corridor.
“Back to Wadestaff, is it?” he says, falling into step beside me. “You know, I love the way you look when you’re annoyed with me.”
I choose to ignore his flirting. If I give nothing back, I’m sure he’ll soon get bored.
“I’m always annoyed with you,” I say, staring straight ahead.
“I know; it means I always love the way you look.” I know without glancing over that he’s wearing that stupid, enticing smile of his. It’ll distract me if I’m not careful.
I grit my teeth. Give nothing back, Damia, no matter how much you want to. I obey my own order and manage to stay silent.
“So what are we up to today?” he asks conversationally. “Murder? Intimidation? You’re so good at both.”
“I don’t have time to play your games,” I say, clamping down on the flicker of amusement. Why does he always have to be so gods damn charming?
“Funny, you seemed to have plenty of time for me when you thought I was dying,” he says. “And right in the middle of a battlefield, no less. Or have you lost interest in me now I’m healed? Maybe you only like your men when they’re weak and defenseless.”
His words tug my head around fast enough to catch that smile again. It’s wicked and dangerous and I swear I’ve never seen anything more attractive. I drag my eyes down, trying not to get drawn in by it, and it’s then I notice his clothes.
He’s dressed in an immaculate emerald suit, but it’s not the one he arrived in Filusia wearing. It’s also nothing like anything we fae wear.
“How in the gloam did you find those clothes here?” I demand.
He taps his nose. “Oh, I have my ways. Traders all know each other, and Trova’s not the only place I have an old friend or two.”
“Unbelievable,” I say.
“Yes, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?” he replies, examining his outfit. “Although I promise you, I look just as good out of the suit too.”
Classitus save me.
I know he looks good out of his clothes—or at least I’ve imagined it often enough. It happens so much I’m starting to think something’s wrong with me. It’s why I have to stay away from this man just to make sure I maintain my focus. And my sanity.
We reach the captain’s quarters, and I slow down, glancing at Corrin.
“I have to—”
“I know, I know,” he says holding up his hands and backing away. “Duty calls. Just remember most people can do their jobs and have some fun once in a while.”
I want to say that’s exactly the problem—that this is all just fun to him—but thankfully, he’s already gone, carried away by the shadows before I can make a fool of myself.
I turn around to see Alastor walking up to the door beside me.
“I found something of yours,” he says and holds out his hand to allow Barb to crawl from his wrist onto my arm.
“Thanks,” I say, and he gives me a knowing smile.
“Enjoying time with your new friend?” he asks.
So he did catch Corrin and me talking. Fantastic. I ignore him—strangely, that’s a lot easier to do with Alastor than with Corrin—and I go to knock on the door.
“Oh, they’re expecting us,” Alastor says. “Or at least me.”
“Why?” I ask. This time it’s his turn not to respond as he checks the corridor and pushes open the door. Inside the captain’s sitting room, I find him, Morgana, and Fairon dressed and armed to go out.
“Damia,” the captain says with a note of surprise.
“I was coming to give you a message from Sandale, but I see you’re busy,” I say, confused.
“They called me in this morning,” Alastor explains to me. “We’re going into the city. I just went to get ready.”
“Is this message from Sandale urgent?” the captain asks.
“No,” I reply. “It can wait.” He’d already managed to get word to us while we were on the way here that he and the rest of the rebels got out of Qimorna safely.
I look carefully around at the others, sensing tension. Fairon in particular looks strained and impatient. I think back to our time in the sanctuary. I noticed something was off there too.
“This visit into the city, should I be coming with you?” I ask.
“We shouldn’t make a spectacle of ourselves,” Fairon says tightly, and I cross my arms. I may have to defer to the crown prince, but I’m the captain’s soldier before I’m anyone’s subject.
“If there’s any danger, you’ll need the extra security,” I say.
Fairon exchanges a look with the captain, and he nods.
“Good,” I say. “Now will anyone tell me where we’re going?”
It turns out Fairon’s the only person who knows our destination. All he’ll tell us is that it’s something to do with the king, and that’s why Respen absolutely can’t hear about our trip.
We leave by the back gates, riding past the sanctuary we were all crowded in just yesterday.
It feels like longer ago. How quickly we’ve all accepted that the captain is back and all is well again.
I glance at Morgana, wondering if the ritual really did leave her untouched.
It looks that way…but looks can be deceiving.
We pull our hoods up as we leave the palace grounds behind, passing along backstreets toward the city’s northern neighborhoods. I keep checking we’re not being followed as the houses slowly get less impressive and the streets narrower, until we need to dismount.
Though we’ve borrowed inconspicuous horses from a city stable, some people still glance curiously at the group of cloaked travelers.
But then I feel the buzz of magic in the air, and they look away, their attention pulled elsewhere.
Fairon’s using his sensic magic—distraction—to draw their interest away from us.
Eventually, Fairon stops us in a street that’s clean and well-kept, but not noteworthy. The medium-sized houses are all painted in the bright colors of the city, and Fairon leads us to a mustard-colored one with a dark brown door.
I scan the street as the crown prince turns to us. An old woman leaves her house with a shopping basket, not sparing us a second glance. Other than that, it’s quiet and empty.
“I want you to just listen,” Fairon says, staring particularly hard at the captain. “And don’t talk too much, or you might scare her.”
The captain shrugs as Fairon knocks. There’s a pause, and then a woman answers, her brown eyes going wide as she sees Fairon standing there.
“Your Highness,” she mutters, bobbing a curtsey. I examine her for potential threat, but she looks utterly ordinary in her plain, rust-colored day dress. It’s nicely made, but far from the finery fae nobles wear.
And yet she doesn’t seem completely surprised to find the prince outside her door. She wasn’t expecting him today, that much I can tell. But she has met him before. Flustered and speechless, she ushers us into her home.
When we push back our hoods and she recognizes the captain, I think she might faint.
There’s an unusual edge to her nervousness.
She’s not just intimidated by the princes—she’s afraid of them.
Even as she takes us into a small living room, pulling up chairs and offering us something to drink, she eyes us all like a sheep wondering which wolf will attack her first.
“No need for refreshments, thank you Ms. Frinach,” Fairon says, inclining his head as he settles into a deep-seated chair in a far corner. Morgana perches on a chair opposite, but naturally Alastor, the captain, and I stay standing.
“We won’t take up too much of your time,” the crown prince continues. “But I think you know what we’ve come here to discuss.”
“Please, Your Highness, I’d rather not speak of it again,” the woman says, twisting the fabric of her skirts in her fingers.
I don’t hear what Fairon says next because a prickle runs across my skin, raising my hairs on end. My pulse quickens, and my gut lurches. Call it soldier’s instinct, but I’m hit with the unmistakable knowledge that danger is nearby.
As Fairon tries to coax the woman into telling us whatever the gloam we came here to hear, I shift my weight, glancing around the room as casually as I can.
I make sure to keep a bored expression on my face.
I can see the street through the windows from here—it’s still empty—and the living room door is open, so I’d hear or see anyone in the hallway beyond. What am I missing?
I touch a finger beneath my collar, alerting the little scaled head nestled there. Barb’s already sensed my heartbeat speeding up; she knows what I’m looking for. Raising her head slightly above my collar, she flicks her tongue out, reading the air.
Sssseeven, she hisses.
Seven. There’s seven people in this room. Not six. Barb knows what my next question will be without me asking—she smells the threat, so where is it?
Ssss…the corner…behind the sssitting man…
The corner behind Fairon remains stubbornly empty to my eyes, but I’ve had Barb for more than a decade, since she was a hatchling, and I trust her absolutely. She’s never once made a mistake when it comes to her sense of smell.
In one, swift motion, I draw my knife and fling it across the room.
Instead of clattering against the wall, it stops midair, catching on something soft. Red blooms on its tip, then it jerks and falls to the floor, accompanied by a yelp of pain as a figure flickers into existence in the same spot.
The fae is slight, a male with a leather mask tied to his face and a raised dagger in his hand.
“Intruder!” I shout, though everyone by now can see the man as well as me. With a shrug of his bloody shoulder, he launches himself across the room, straight toward Ms. Frinach.