Chapter Thirty
Knuckles rapped against the door. Kit, who was draped across Nick as if he were a comfortable pillow, released a low, rasping growl from deep in his throat.
Nick opened his eyes, squinting against the daylight pouring in through the window.
Sleep clung to his limbs, unwilling to relinquish its hold just yet. He’d slept through the night. Again.
Through blurred vision, he saw the glare Kit fixed on the door.
“Seche?” Nick called hoarsely.
“I’ve waited as long as I can,” Seche called. “I can bring only the letter if you’ve changed your mind about coming today.”
Nick’s body urged him to shut his eyes and fall back asleep.
His conscience reminded him that his family didn’t even know if he was alive, prompting him to sit up, sliding Kit off him with a reluctant sigh.
The white sheet fell away from his torso, pooling on his lap.
Kit’s growl stopped, but he gazed up at Nick from the bed with a distinct unhappiness in his eyes.
Beneath the blankets, Kit’s tail trailed against Nick’s thigh. Higher, then higher again.
Nick caught the lean limb before it made contact with his cock. “I’ll be five minutes,” he called to the door.
“They won’t let me come,” Kit objected.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I need to try again, though.
” Nick peeled himself away from a grumbling Kit and got out of bed, dressing quickly.
Kit shadowed him all the way to the stables and, stone-faced, tacked up a horse for himself before Ios was tasked with dragging him away.
Kit didn’t fight them; Nick thought he just needed to express his unhappiness with the situation.
The route they took curved towards the mountains in the distance. Nick was glad he had the reliable Julia again to lumber along with no input from him. Seche wore the same cloak of brilliant blue as before, his leathers gleaming and freshly polished.
“Do you not get hot dressed like that?” Nick asked.
“Of course, but one must dress for one’s role,” Seche answered. At Nick’s long look, Seche quirked an eyebrow. “I find that dressing as a man to be respected tends to encourage people to show that respect. It matters little to kits, but I have learned this in my dealings with men.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” So long as he was comfortable, Nick didn’t really care what he wore. But he did find Kit’s leather pants growing on him, and the finely embroidered shirts Kit wore suited him so well. “Are you ducking out on me again?”
“Not this time,” Seche replied. “Valor is away on business.”
They rode for an hour before the path forked away from the mountains, and through the trees ahead, Nick saw the blue gleam of the river. He heard the leaves rustle overhead, the lap of water against the shore. A familiar groan of creaking wood.
Julia stopped.
Seche looked over his shoulder at him. “She thinks you asked her to halt. See how your weight has leaned back –”
Nick cut a hand at Seche to shut him up.
Seche’s comfortable look vanished, and his horse came to a sudden stop. Nick straightened, listening. He heard the creak again. “There’s a boat. Is there meant to be a boat?”
“No.” Seche’s horse whirled on its haunches. “Hold on.”
Nick grabbed a handful of Julia’s mane as she swung around. Seche cried out. He fell forwards as his horse thundered past, the shaft of an arrow sticking from his back. Nick caught a glimpse of horse mane curled in Seche’s fist as he clung on.
Something bowled into Nick, ripping him from Julia’s back.
He landed heavily on his side, and someone landed on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs.
“This him?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Nick shoved off the ground, somehow managing to twist and get his elbow into someone’s face with a satisfying crack.
A growl, and the back of his neck was caught and slammed into the ground.
Dirt and dried leaves billowed out under his harsh breaths.
“That’s him,” said someone in a resigned tone. Nick recognised the voice. He looked up to see Captain Hin standing on the path, looking at Nick as if he was disappointed to have found him. “The information was good. Kit’s not here.”
“We can look –”
“Don’t have the time.”
“We have all day,” the man on Nick’s back said. A swishing noise let him know it was a kit that had him pinned.
Captain Hin looked down the pathway where both horses had vanished. “The informant said it would only be the witch’s apprentice. Get him on board, we’re leaving.”
◆◆◆
The journey upriver was unpleasant.
Nick was stashed in the brig of a riverboat. There was no natural light, no candles, no bed. Breakfast was a small loaf of hard bread, and dinner was a bowl of cold fish stew. The man who came to give the food was an unfamiliar one. He ignored Nick, not acknowledging him at all when he spoke.
He saw nobody else.
Nick hoped that Seche made it back to the castle safely, that the gleaming leather armour he kept so well was functional as well as decorative.
He feared Kit’s reaction when he didn’t come back.
He agonised over the details—if Seche made it back, how Kit would receive the news.
If Seche didn’t make it back, and Kit realised that something had gone wrong.
That Valor would stop Kit from coming after him was the only silver lining Nick could find.
The hull vibrated against his back, a low groan emanating from the wood as it scraped against something solid.
The door to his cell swung open, bathing Nick in blinding light and stale air.
He flinched as two kits hauled him roughly to his feet, his muscles sore from sleeping on the hard ground.
The chains binding his wrists rustled. Nick’s eyes adjusted, and a shadow in the corner transformed into Evie, Desre’s handmaiden.
She peered up into Nick’s face, examining him with a blank look before nodding to the kits at either side of him.
“My lady wants him brought to councilman Greya immediately.”
Nick didn’t resist, wanting nothing more than to be out of the dank, humid room.
They were docked in a large, sprawling town at the base of a mountain that jutted up abruptly high into the sky.
He’d seen the mountain in the distance from the castle but realised now it was much taller than he’d first thought.
Kit had told him nobody lived on the other side of the mountain, as it was almost constantly in shade, while Aridia bathed in the light.
The density of buildings fanned out gradually, just orderly enough that Nick thought it a purposeful, planned gradient.
With stone buildings and red-brick roofs, Aridia was a stalk of green grass shy of pretty.
The fields surrounding the castle had been barren and yellow; the fields here were scorched to sand, the last remnants of trees bowed into husks, curled in death.
The riverbanks, where growth might have managed to gain a foothold, were lined with large slabs of scrubbed, dark granite.
Nick’s attention moved to his immediate surroundings.
Exhausted kits littered the deck of the ship, dragging harsh, sharp breaths deep into their lungs.
Most cupped raw hands to their stomachs, bright pink blisters blooming where they’d gripped the river oars.
The kits at the castle had been filled out, full of colour and energy; these kits were scrawny and pale.
On the dock, a small crowd of kits surrounded the boat.
Stone-faced guards called out, “No food,” to the onlookers, and it wasn’t being received with grace.
Nick was hauled through the crowd. Some curious eyes were thrown his direction, but most shied away from his flat-eyed jailors like they were something to be feared.
Evie led the way to a building with spires that towered above all other buildings, edges sharp and Gothic.
The windows were stained-glass, a man with golden hair artfully painted in each one.
The river cupped the outskirts of the building in a horseshoe shape, mere inches between the water’s edge and the foundation stones.
They crossed a reinforced granite bridge to large double doors that swung open before they reached them.
Evie and the guards stopped mid-step, quickly bowing their heads. The kit on his left grabbed a handful of hair at the back of Nick’s head and shoved him down. “Fuck off.” Nick’s anger exploded. He wrenched away, kicking out at that asshole. “I’m not bowing my head to some fucking –”
The kit punched his sternum, knocking the breath out of Nick in one fell swoop. He gasped, ribs creaking in protest.
“It’s just a servant,” Evie muttered, straightening.
Before Nick recovered, they marched him into the church.
They passed through a main hall so cavernous their footsteps’ echoes had echoes, where rows of pews led to a circular altar atop a raised platform.
They quickly entered a side room, where he was led to a chair in the centre and forced to sit.
A lush red carpet covered the floor, and between bookcases lining the walls hung oil paintings, all depicting a man with golden hair.
His two escorts remained next to him, the one who’d punched him placing a hand on his shoulder where his fingers dug painfully into muscle.
Nick scowled, lips parting to deliver every curse he could think of, but just before he spoke, the open book on the desk in front of him caught his eye.
He tilted his head, staring down at the symbol in recognition: the duplication rune on his inner wrist.
The door behind them opened and shut. The two kits bowed, and Nick’s head was wrenched down once more by an unyielding fist.
“Councilman Greya. Lady Rin,” Evie greeted respectfully. “This is the witch’s student –”
“Leave,” Rin interrupted her. There were quick footsteps and then the sound of the door shutting.
“Desre insists he’s the one,” Greya said.
“Please, when does she ever do anything but insist she knows best?” Rin answered.
“She’s usually right.”
“She’s never right. She just fucks with everyone’s head to make you think she is,” Rin snapped back.
“Even a god fell to her charms.” Greya had a chided sound to him. “Don’t punish me for not being able to resist her.”
“Resist her? You seek her out! All she’s interested in is fucking her kits. You beg and beg until she turns an eye on you and –”
“Remove the bandages. Let’s see the mark.” He talked over her.
The kit released Nick’s head, and he was able to raise his eyes.
Greya and Rin were dressed more finely than anyone Nick had seen, even at Vi’s party.
Jewels adorned their fingers, ears and necks, and gemstones were inlaid in hair that both wore long.
Their faces were similar enough that Nick suspected they were related, but it was hard to guess their ages.
“She feeds it to that beast of hers, you know,” Rin snarked.
“Even she wouldn’t go that far,” Greya objected.
Rin’s top lip curled back. “Why do you think her pet is so strong?”
Greya’s brows knitted together. “Is he particularly strong? I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re hopeless.” Rin turned sharply to Nick. “Take those off.” She gestured to his arms. Without unlocking the manacles, the kits cut loose the bandages from his arms. Rin’s gaze jumped to the symbol on his inner wrist, surprise shining in the woman’s eyes. Her ire vanished. “I stand corrected.”
Greya’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I thought we’d never find one again! Blessed be, this calls for wine.”
“This calls for a test, first, to be sure.”
Neither of them had acknowledged Nick, not meeting his eyes, not addressing him.
“We can enjoy our wine while we do a test,” Greya pointed out.
“Have you forgotten that there’s an army surrounding the city?”
“So what? Send out Desre’s man. He’ll have them running away squealing in no time—oh, you’re right, I do remember! He’s very strong.” Greya beamed, as if he’d recalled something delightful.
“You know…” Nick’s anger had been stoking away as he listened, slowly reaching a boil. “For people supposedly centuries old, you talk like children. Have too many years rotted your brains away? It sure seems like it.”
The two councillors went silent, staring at Nick with matching looks of appalled shock.
The violent kit snatched his hair and yanked his head back to a painful degree.
Nick snarled, eyes flashing towards him.
But the kit wasn’t angry. His eyes were empty of emotion, and the flatness was familiar.
Reminiscent of the way Kit shut down whenever he was summoned by Desre.
At once, Nick knew that this man had been subdued by Desre and that his actions were an extension of her.
Nick flicked his eyes back to the council members.
“And,” Nick added, “you’re both ugly fucks.”