Chapter Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
ASPETH
14 Days Before the Conquest Moon
Hawk hired a nearby woodcutter to cart us back to Vastwarren that night, and we spent the whole next day catching up on sleep. The next morning, we head to the guild library. There, Magpie goes over the history of Old Prell and common types of artifacts that are found in the tunnels. Normally I’d love this sort of thing. I love talking about the Prellian Empire with others, and nothing excites me more than artifact discussion. But I can’t concentrate. Barnabus’s return hangs over my head like an executioner’s axe.
I’ve been woefully blind to the dangers here. Anyone who recognizes me could blackmail me. They could demand funds from my father—funds that aren’t there. We could be exposed in an instant.
Destroyed in a heartbeat, and no one would do more than shrug. Their fortune was gone, someone would point out. Their artifacts gambled away. What did they expect?
I stare at the book in front of me, not seeing a single page. It’s a book on the pottery of Old Prell, and there aren’t enough copies for all the students, so I’m sharing with Kipp, who turns the pages with the sticky end of his tongue. The Prellian Empire was famous for its ceramics and the sorts of things they enchanted the jars and vases with. I know everything in the book already, but I’ve never seen this particular reference and part of me knows I’m going to regret being unable to concentrate. Yet every time I try to focus, I see Barnabus on his horse. I think of what will happen if he finds out I’m here in Vastwarren and not high in the mountains, safely ensconced in Honori Hold and weeping bitter tears over our broken engagement.
He’ll make a move if he knows I’m here. At home we’re surrounded by retainers and guardsmen who have no idea that our artifacts are gone. They blindly trust in my father’s might. Their lives are at stake, too.
Should I turn around and leave, then? Go back home and marry someone like Barnabus and reinforce our family’s holdings through a connection? Or is it already too late because Barnabus knows I’m here? If he lets that out, I’ll be ruined.
There’s also a small matter of my Taurian husband, but I’m tackling one problem at a time. Even if I can’t make our marriage work long-term, I at least owe it to him to be here for the Conquest Moon. He needs a partner, though he acts as if any woman wouldn’t be falling all over herself to get together with him and that mouth of his—
“Aspeth?”
I look up, startled. “I—yes?” I grab the page to turn it, pretending like I was paying attention. My fingers encounter Kipp’s slithery, sticky tongue instead and I squeal in horror. The slitherskin makes a choked sound, pulling back and putting a hand to his mouth with a wounded expression that reads How dare you . “I’m sorry,” I manage, embarrassed. “Could you repeat the question?”
“I asked if we were boring you,” Magpie says. Her graying hair is pulled back from her round face in a tight braid today, emphasizing a hint of cheekbones. She looks better than she has in the last while, though her hands still shake with tremors at times. Lark says this is a good sign, though. Hawk doesn’t agree. He’s still waiting for her to falter again.
“Oh, I’m not bored,” I exclaim, putting on my simpering noblewoman act and beaming at her. “I love Prellian pottery.”
“Excellent. Remind me of the piece we were just talking about and the common things to look for?” Her dark, heavy brows go up.
Um. I eye the page in the book in front of me. There’s a drawing of a fluted, thin bud vase with a rounded flare at the base. Looking at it makes me think of Hawk and the knot he’s supposed to get at the time of the Conquest Moon. I stare at it, trying to think of non-phallic characteristics. “Ah…”
“Leave her alone,” Hawk says, voice gruff at the back of the room. “You know Aspeth’s knowledge isn’t a problem when it comes to artifacts.”
I hadn’t realized Hawk was even in the library with us. He must have joined after we’d sat down. I glance over my shoulder at him and see his big form stretched on a bench near the wall, his hooves sprawled out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He slouches like a man of leisure, ironic given that his guild coat is taut over his thick arms….
“If she’s so knowledgeable, she needs to share with her companions.” Magpie’s expression is unyielding. “We don’t have time to waste. Not now.”
He straightens in his seat, hooves squarely upon the floor. Hawk leans forward, one hand on his knee as he studies Magpie. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Remember when Lord Jent decided to go to war with that big coastal hold? And he called in a special request to the guild? We sent out teams of students fresh from the schoolroom and only half of them made it out alive, but that wasn’t a problem for Lord Jent because he got the artifacts he needed and quickly. We’ve a similar situation now. Lord Chatworth has asked for additional teams to be sent to the tunnels to look for artifacts. He’s going to war and he’s willing to pay top price to do so.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. My entire body, actually. I’m just a numb lump of flesh, unable to move, to speak, to breathe.
Chatworth Hold is going to war.
I can guess who he’s going to attack. I want to shoot a panicked look to Gwenna but I don’t dare turn around to meet her gaze.
This is the nightmare situation I was dreaming of. Worse, even.
“What does that mean for us?” Mereden asks.
“Lord Chatworth’s younger son is paying for additional teams to head into the tunnels. This happens occasionally with the guild—sometimes a lord will need an emergency supply of artifacts. Whenever this happens, the teachers take any team of fledglings in that is deemed competent enough. It’ll give you an edge when it comes time for your final exam.”
“And we’re competent enough to go into the tunnels? As a team?” Lark sounds openly skeptical. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t think of us when I think of competence, but maybe…maybe…maybe we can find something good, something big, and I can claim it for Honori instead of turning it over to Barnabus. Maybe I can find something big enough to change our circumstances. After all, it was the Sphere of Reason that established Sparkanos and the guild after the Mancer Wars. If there’s one artifact like that, there are bound to be others.
Maybe this is where I need to be after all. If we find something big, I can do my best to make sure it doesn’t fall into Barnabus’s hands. He must need additional firepower of some kind if he’s paying for more artifacts. He needs an edge over my father in some way and is counting on us to deliver it.
Okay. Okay. I can fix this. I can save the day still. I take a deep, shuddering breath.
“We’re not ready,” Gwenna states in a firm, reasonable voice. She sits behind me so I can’t see her expression, but I know she’s thinking the same thing I am—we can’t help Barnabus. We just can’t.
“It’s not like you’ll be going in alone,” Magpie retorts.
I glance up. “Hawk’s coming with us?”
She pauses. “A good idea, but no. He’s going to be needed for more retrieval missions, most likely. Just today, another team got stuck in the ruins of an old temple despite that area being off-limits. Idiots.”
Wait, he is? He mentioned the other Taurians had left the city due to the oncoming Conquest Moon. Why is he here with us if he’s heading out on an emergency mission? I shoot a look over to him but his face is impassive. “Isn’t that dangerous for him, too? The other Taurians are gone.”
“It’s not a dangerous area. They’re safe where they are. They just can’t get out.” Magpie shrugs.
“I’m training a retrieval team, too,” Hawk adds. “Since the guild is realizing it would help to have additional trained teams. Once they have their gear together, we’re meeting at the drop station and heading in. Hopefully it won’t take too long.” His expression is carefully blank, but I feel like he’s annoyed at being on call. I can’t say I blame him.
“Don’t you worry about Hawk,” Magpie says. “Just give his balls a good jiggle when he comes back.”
Hawk clears his throat.
My face heats. “Must you be so crude?”
“Only if I’m awake.” She smirks in my direction. “And we all know you’re giving his balls a jiggle, so it’s not like this is a secret.”
Kipp makes a hissing noise and I realize he’s laughing. I scowl over at him.
“So fucking pay attention in class,” Magpie says, leaning forward. “Because we’re going into the tunnels in a little over a week and you need all the information I can shove in your head.”
Over a week. It’s enough time to send a letter home. I need to warn Father somehow, to let him know that Barnabus is going to make a move against Honori Hold. But mucking hells, I don’t even know where Father is. Is he at court? At his mistress’s home by the sea? At our hold? Do I send out anonymous letters to all those places and hope I catch him? It feels foolish, but what choice do I have? Not warning him seems even more foolish. I have to tell him something. Perhaps I can hint that Father has a friend here in Vastwarren who is looking out for his interests. I don’t have to point out that it’s me. He wouldn’t recognize my handwriting anyhow.
I contemplate what I’m going to write through the rest of the lessons, lost in thought. It’s not like I need to know the shape of an urn that carries a particular spell, or what it means when a jar is found magically sealed (nothing good). I already know these things. I’m able to tune out Magpie and not feel too guilty. I’ve got bigger problems on my mind.
By the end of the day, I’m feeling relatively good about the message I’m going to send. I have the perfect, concise statement ready, and I’m mentally going through the rooms in the barracks that might have stationery I can purloin. Then it’s just a matter of getting it delivered. But when we arrive back at the dormitory, any thought I had of being in control goes out the window.
There’s a message waiting for me, the vellum envelope sealed with plain, unadorned wax. The others look at me curiously when I tuck it into my blouse and head to my room to read it in private. With trembling fingers, I open it and read the brief spatter of text.
Tomorrow night.
King’s Onion tavern.
Midnight.
It’s from Barnabus. Has to be. Somehow he’s figured out where I am.
And I have to go. I don’t have a choice.
It’s not until later that night that Hawk heads out with the retrieval team trainees, all of them wearing the black sashes of the repeaters. I wave goodbye from the doorway of the nest like a dutiful wife, but I’m glad he’s gone. With Hawk out, it’s going to be surprisingly easy to sneak away. I go to bed early the next night, pretending to be tired from a full day of sword work. Once I’m alone in the quarters I share with Hawk, I change out of my guild uniform into my darkest, most somber dress and cloak, slipping on my delicate boots. I don’t know why I’m bothering to try to pretend like I’m not in the guild. Plausible deniability, I suppose. Either way, it feels safer to show up as “Aspeth” instead of “Sparrow.” After giving Squeaker’s ears a good scratch, I open the door as quietly as possible…
…only to see a glaring Gwenna waiting on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Stopping you.” The look on her face could peel paint. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Aspeth, you are a terrible liar! You’re going out to meet Barnabus, aren’t you?”
I scoff. “No.”
She reaches out and plucks a tuft of orange fur from my cloak. “Pulling out our old clothes, sneaking away at midnight…sure sounds to me like you’re meeting him.”
“How do you know he’s even asked to meet me?”
“I snuck in and read your note.”
“Gwenna!”
“What? It’s obvious you weren’t going to tell me.” She marches into my room and sits on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed as she glares at me. “So again, I’ll ask, what do you think you’re doing? Because going to meet him is incredibly stupid.”
“What other choice do I have?” She continues to give me a look of disbelief, so I explain. “He knows where I am and what I’m doing. If you think he’s not going to use that information for his own purposes, you’re being naive. I have to see what he wants and what it’ll take to keep him quiet.”
Gwenna purses her lips, hesitating. “You know he doesn’t want anything good.”
“I know he doesn’t. But again, what am I supposed to do?”
She sighs. “I just don’t like it, Aspeth.”
“Me, either.”
Gwenna stands up, and I think she’s going to push me back into my room. Instead, she envelops me in a hug. Surprised and touched, I hug her back, feeling awkward and yet somehow happy. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d come here alone. Probably have given up a half dozen times already.
She pats my back. “Let me come with you, hmm?”
“You can’t. We both know you can’t.” I give her a squeeze of affection and then pull away. “If I don’t return, you have to tell the others what happened. If you come with me, we both could get in trouble. At least this way you’re safe.”
“Yes, but you’re going to go into the city alone after dark? That’s dangerous, Aspeth.”
She’s not wrong, but again, I don’t have a choice. It’s not as if I can ask Barnabus to meet somewhere more convenient. “I’ll wear my cloak and keep out of sight as much as possible. And don’t forget, I’ve been practicing with a short sword.”
Gwenna stares at me and then we both burst into laughter.
We giggle until tears stream down our faces, because I’m absolutely rotten with a sword. Comically bad. I’m in far more danger of wounding those around me with my sword, to the point that Magpie has instructed me to use a club and only a club. No sharp objects, especially not in confined spaces.
Gwenna doesn’t give up, though. Wiping tears from her face, she shakes her head again. “Ask Kipp to go with you. He’s good with a sword and no one will pay much attention to a slitherskin.”
“What if he says something to someone?” I ask, worried.
“Kipp? Please. He’s the soul of discretion.” She tugs me by the arm, pulling me into the hall as if it’s already decided. “Come on.”
Maybe she’s right. We head down to the kitchen (Kipp’s favorite spot to tuck into his shell house and relax) and talk to him. A short time later, I’m out in the streets of Vastwarren, heading for the tavern with Kipp keeping a careful distance ahead of me. He seems to know where he’s going, which is good, because it’s dark and I can’t see anything without my spectacles. I weighed the idea of wearing them, but it would ruin my disguise with Lark and the others, so I have to stagger around blindly in the darkness. It’s all a blur of shadows, but I can keep my eye on Kipp’s pale shell that he shoulders as if it weighs nothing, and it makes it easy to track him.
The night in the city seems dangerous. Even though I know I can take care of myself—probably—I’m still a little alarmed at the crowded streets. Vastwarren’s winding, crooked streets are packed with men of all ages after dark, most of them drunk and rowdy. Things are peaceful behind the guild’s high wall at the center of the city, but here in the common streets it’s a mess.
Once you get away from the center of the city where the guild holds sway, the inns and shops all cluster together like people crowding and jockeying for space. If there’s a fingerbreadth of ground to be found, someone has built a booth on it and is selling wares. We pass an alley that’s crowded with blankets and stolen goods laid out for buyers. Kipp hurries past but part of me wants to pause and look to see if there are artifacts being sold.
Not that I have the funds, of course. But you never know. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about what can be found here in Vastwarren if one knows the right people to talk to, and I’m here to acquire artifacts to protect my home above all else. I need to remember that.
It’s a sobering thought. I speed up, clutching my cloak tighter to my body, and follow behind Kipp as he winds through the crowds. Luckily the cloak—and the nasty, damp weather—keep anyone from bothering me. I get a few sideways looks from people who lose interest when I don’t pause and just continue on my way. Then I see it.
A wooden sign hangs out over the street from the balcony above, designed to move back and forth in the wind. It’s hand-painted with a busty woman holding out a bright yellow goblet that pours round white shapes that must be onions—of all things—like they’re liquid. THE KING’S ONION is written in bold lettering at the top of the sign, large enough that even I can read it.
Kipp pauses directly underneath it and looks over at me, then at the tavern. A raucous crowd is inside despite the fact that it’s the middle of the night, and someone screams with laughter, only to be drowned out by more shouting. His expression is displeased as he eyes me.
“It’s not my idea of a good place, either, but I don’t have a choice,” I tell him as I come to his side. “Thank you for the guidance. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
He gestures at the wall and mimes leaning against it and waiting, then looks at me.
“No, you don’t need to wait for me.”
Kipp taps his heart and then gestures at his sword. Then he gives me a firm, emphatic nod. I’m pretty sure this is a We’re a team sort of gesture and it makes me feel warm inside. Even a quiet slitherskin has my back.
“I know,” I say softly. “And I appreciate you, Kipp. But I promise I’ll be fine.”
He nods again and adjusts the straps on his shell house, then trots down the street, heading home. I’m left alone in front of the raucous inn, and my gut churns with unease. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see Barnabus. I want to go home and sleep and not think about anything.
I can’t, though. My past is coming to fuck things up for me. I bite back a sigh of frustration. Nothing to do but move forward. Get Barnabus out of my hair and then move on with my life.
Taking a deep, steeling breath, I exhale and step inside the tavern, lowering my hood as I do. The stink of sweat and humid air from so many people crowding into the place hits me like a wall, and I flinch. It’s warm inside here, the fire merrily blazing in the large hearth at the far side of the inn, and every wooden table is crowded full of people. It smells like spilled ale as I move toward the crowded bar, looking for Barnabus. The wooden floors creak and groan as I wind my way through the busy cluster of people, and when I spot an empty section at the far end of the bar, I move toward it quickly.
As I approach, a barmaid comes toward me. She could be my age, her smile bright despite the tired circles under her eyes and the many stains on the front of her apron that speak of a long day. “Can I get you something, hon?”
I didn’t bring any coin with me and want to kick myself. “I’m waiting for someone.”
She fills a couple of mugs and slides them down the bar, eyeing me as she does. “Alone? In a place like this? Everything all right?” She leans in to wipe an imaginary spill and her voice lowers. “You need me to get the constable?”
I shake my head. “Much as I would love that, I’m afraid I need to hear what he has to say.”
“That’s always the worst, isn’t it? When you don’t want to hear their shit and you have to anyhow. Old flame?”
“Something like that.”
“Been there.” The barmaid shakes her head. “Here. Have a drink on me.” She rinses out a stoneware mug and then fills it from one of the barrels behind her.
“Oh, I really couldn’t—”
“You’re pale, hon. Take the drink. Think of it as free advertising.” She finishes pouring and then shoves a wedge of white onion on the edge, like a garnish.
“Oh, um, an onion. A great big one, too. Thank you.” I turn the mug, trying to figure out how to drink without touching the onion itself.
“Comes from the name of this place.” She gestures behind her, where a basket perches atop another aging barrel. It’s full to the brim of peeled white onions, and as I watch, one falls from above, joining its brethren in the basket. I look up and see a golden goblet—the selfsame goblet that was on the sign—turned upon its side. There’s a foggy circle in the middle, and as I watch, it coalesces into another peeled onion, then rolls out of the cup and drops into the basket below.
An artifact. “Fancy. From the king, I suppose?”
The barmaid nods proudly. “Owner here did a favor for the king once and was rewarded. Everyone comes here for the free onions with their beer. We have fried onions, too, if you’re more into that. Pickled ones, too. Baked, breaded…”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She offers me a wry smile and leans in again. “Just between you and me, I’d avoid the privy, though. It’s pretty rank and oniony.”
Ew. I wrinkle my nose and nod.
Just then, I see a feathered purple hat bobbing as it moves through the crowd, and I know immediately who that is. Barnabus has always had a taste for the most ridiculous, showy hats. I take a large gulp of my beer to brace myself, then grab the onion and take a huge chomp out of it, because fuck Barnabus. If he wants to talk to me (or worse), I hope I reek of onions.
“Atta girl,” the barmaid says.
I nod at her, eating the onion like an apple, and get to my feet to approach my former betrothed. Is he going to be glad to see me? Beg me to run away with him and leave this place? Or is he going to threaten me somehow?
Knowing what I know now—that Father has no money and we’ve no artifacts left—it’s tempting to consider leaving with Barnabus. To marry him and let Honori Hold become his problem. Let him figure out how to pay for the knights and their annual fees. Let him figure out how to get more artifacts.
But I’m already married, so I can’t do that.
And even if I did, he’d probably murder me in our marriage bed once his claim on Honori Hold was secure. He wouldn’t need me any longer, and a widower can marry again, of course. So no, marrying to solve my problems isn’t the answer, much as I might entertain the idea for a brief, shining moment.
I chew on the last of the onion, hoping that my breath is fragrant and terrible, and raise a hand in the air to signal him. He can come to me, I decide, and not the other way around. So I sip my beer and watch as another magical onion rolls into the basket. The barmaid grabs it off the top, slices it into quarters with a deft knife, and then wedges them onto the rims of four more mugs and sends them flying down the counter. She knows her stuff, and I’m impressed.
Then Barnabus is standing in front of me, a look of regal horror on his face as he eyes my rumpled, damp clothing and my frizzy hair that’s probably fallen completely out of its knot at my nape. I smile tightly at him, wondering if we’re going to bother with a polite hug and cheek kiss of greeting as all holders do.
He moves toward me and oh, I guess we are. “Barnabus,” I exhale as I say his name, brushing my cheek against his and making sure to get a lot of oniony air into my words.
Barnabus recoils, gazing up and down at me. “My gods, Aspeth, look at you. How has it come to this? What are you doing in this cesspool of a city?”
“Come to what?” I flutter my lashes and decide to play it stupid. “And I’m just visiting friends. What are you doing here?”
“Visiting friends? In that? Hardly.” He flicks a hand at my clothing. It’s creased from sitting in my trunk and covered in cat hair, and the colors are unflattering, but I didn’t think it was that bad. “Are you actually working with the guild? In the dirt ?”
It’s more a matter of “excavating” than digging in the dirt. And I haven’t even gotten the chance to go excavating yet. Not that he needs to know that. “You set up this meeting. What is it you want?”
The look of incredulousness on his face turns to one of sheer calculation. “I want to know why you’re here. We were supposed to be married.”
Is he still going on about that? I broke off the engagement months ago. “You’re not in love with me, Barnabus. We both know this. So tell me what you want by dragging me here, because it’s obvious you want something.”
“I want Honori Hold.” His voice is soft. “It was in my grasp and you took it from me.”
“It’s not yours—”
“I’m a second son,” he continues. A mug with an onion decorating it is shoved in front of him by the barmaid and he draws back with a look of disgust. He nudges it away from him and turns back to me. “My brother is ridiculously healthy and his wife is pregnant. There’s no chance I’ll inherit my family’s hold. So I want yours.”
“You can’t have mine.” Not that I want it much at the moment, but I’ll be damned by all the gods if I just hand it over to this arse. “How did you even know I was here?”
“I didn’t.” He leans back and studies me. “It’s coincidence, really. But I saw your maid by the stream the other day. You two were as thick as thieves back at Honori, so I had my men ask around. Everyone in the guild is quite eager to tell me all about the women who have fledged to Guild Master Magpie and her Taurian brute.”
I purse my lips, irritated.
“You didn’t even go by a false name, Aspeth darling. It’s as if you were begging to be caught.”
“I had one. They wouldn’t let me use it,” I mutter.
He reaches for my hand on the bar. “We can ignore all of this. Come home with me.”
Just as he touches me, I snatch my hand away. “I’m not going anywhere with you, and we’re not marrying. You’re not getting Honori Hold.”
Barnabus ignores me. “I won’t even tell anyone that I found you here. We’ll simply say you were overcome with passion for me and we eloped. No one has to know the truth. Your family will be ruined if anyone finds out that you’re here, pretending to be a guild stooge.”
I bristle at that. He makes it seem as if I’m an idiot. That I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into. I know—and have always known—that traveling without a chaperone isn’t done for a holder’s daughter. I know that coming to a rough city like Vastwarren makes it ten times worse, because the reputation of this place is less than savory. The guild is considered a necessary evil by most holders—required, but disliked.
I know all this.
I just don’t care .
Being a pristine, virginal holder’s daughter with an impeccable reputation got me nowhere for the past thirty years. I haven’t married. My father’s hold is broke. Our artifacts are gone. We’re in danger of losing our lives if the truth comes out, and frankly I’m tired of all of it. I’m here in this rough, despicable city, preparing to do the dreaded manual labor of a guild member, because I’m out of better choices.
I’m finally doing what I want. What I need to do.
And Barnabus is here, sticking his nose in and trying to ruin things. My anger rises, and I grab the onion from his mug and crunch down on it, not caring that I spray bits of white onion flesh everywhere. I hope he finds me disgusting. “I’m not going to marry you.”
“Wrong.” He leans back, his expression downright smug, as if he has me trapped. “You marry me, and I’ll keep your little secret about all of this. Otherwise, your reputation is destroyed.”
“I’m not going to marry you,” I say again calmly. He doesn’t need to know that I can’t. That I’m already married to someone else. Seeing him here has just cemented the fact that I would rather walk across broken glass than marry this jerk. To think that I once enjoyed his kisses. I try to imagine this selfish, self-absorbed boor tonguing me the way Hawk did and the onions in my stomach churn. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“Well, then, enjoy hunting artifacts for me,” Barnabus says, voice light. “I’ve paid a lot of money to the guild to get everyone possible down there scouting for artifacts, and they’ll all come to my hands. They know I’m planning to go to war. To take down another hold. And do you think they care? No. All they care about is getting a commission, so I made sure it’s an enormous one.” He smiles, all teeth, and leans back confidently. “You’re of course welcome to commission teams on your father’s behalf. It can be a race between us.”
My nostrils flare as I seethe in silence. He knows I can’t stop what he’s put in motion. The guild is neutral when it comes to the squabbles and power plays of holders. They have to be. It doesn’t matter who is fighting whom, just that the guild gets paid for the artifacts they retrieve.
“So you should marry me,” Barnabus continues. “Marry me and I won’t tell everyone that I saw Lord Honori’s spinster heir Aspeth pretending to be a guild lackey. That she was slumming with commoners and thieves. Trust me, you want my silence.”
My mind is racing. I can’t even tell my father about this. Can’t warn him. If I get connected to the guild itself, Father will show up and drag me home and marry me off to Barnabus anyhow, just to stop the oncoming bloodbath. A marriage to me stops everything.
Which is why I threaten Barnabus instead of cowering. “You’re not going to tell anyone that I’m here.”
“Won’t I?”
“No, you won’t.” I straighten. “If you do, I’ll marry someone else—the first holder I see—and make him the heir to Honori Hold.”
His face flushes with angry color. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. There are other holders with sons who aren’t married. What about Vurlith from Morsell Hold?” Mereden has mentioned her brother is courting another man, but I don’t care. “He seems nice enough, and he’s not married. We don’t have to be compatible, understand? We just have to be married for me to make him the heir.”
Barnabus leans in toward me. “You little bitch, listen here—”
I slide out of my seat, moving away from him before he can grab at me. I’m playing a deadly game—there’s nothing that would stop him from dragging me out of here with him tonight and hauling me in front of a priestess to marry me forcibly. I need to extricate myself, and quickly. “I have to go.”
And just then, I see a huge, hulking, angry Taurian shape in the doorway, horns swinging back and forth as Hawk scans the room looking for me.
Uh-oh.
“I’ll be in touch,” I tell Barnabus, and then race toward Hawk before he can see me with my ex.