Chapter 10 #2
“I’m not taking orders from you,” Zanna said. “Prince Oren told me Master Tanniyn was in charge. Didn’t mention you at all. Oversight, I’m sure.”
Fire and ash, he’d forgotten the tongue on this woman. “Aye, he is.” Kurtz nodded at Cole to show he wasn’t trying to take the leadership mantle from the lad. “But I’m in charge of the teams’ safety. Won’t nobody argue with you about that, they won’t.”
Zanna’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’d sooner put my safety in the hands of a blind mule.”
“Suit yourself.” Kurtz winked. “But these hands will be at your service all the same.”
She leaned forward enough to invade his space. “Those hands come anywhere near me, and I’ll have your head on a spike by breakfast.”
He held her gaze. “You’d be pining for me by lunch.”
Zanna groaned at the ceiling. “Typical Kurtz. Charm, grin, and hope the girl likes brown eyes.”
“It’s worked so far.”
“Consider your streak broken,” Zanna said. “I work five nights a week, moonlight shift. I won’t always be able to join you, but I’ll do my best. Which makes one of us.”
Kurtz would be sure to plan all the important tasks when the woman was busy. “Where do you work?” he asked.
“Ice Island. Guard on the female levels.”
It took effort not to spit on the floor. “Well, that explains your charming personality, it does. Let me guess, you’re one of the nice guards, eh?” He leaned toward Cole. “They all say that.”
“You don’t have to like me, Chazir, but you will respect me. I’m here to do a job, same as you.”
Her words lit a flame in Kurtz’s stomach, and the heat curled, slow and thick.
Eben’s breath. Of course he found the bossy ones attractive.
Of course. It was like some twisted instinct—see a woman who could run him into the ground, immediately wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Not happening.
He threw back a surly reply. “Just what I needed—another warden in my life.”
A shadow darkened their table. “Look who’s come back to warm his bones at my hearth.
” Merrygog McLennan’s gravelly voice carried the weight of a life well lived.
A burly man in his sixties, the tavern owner had white, unruly hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail and a thick, gray beard.
“I’ve missed seeing your rugged mug ’round these parts, Kurtz.
What brings you back from the king’s service, eh? A good drink and a dance, I’d wager.”
Kurtz stood and greeted Merrygog with a hug. “Good to see you, old man.”
“Rilla says you’re making music these days?” The old man wrinkled his nose.
“Only because of the talent of these two.” Kurtz introduced Merrygog to Cole and his cousin Mistel and hinted that they’d like to audition for work.
“I’ll hear you now, but you’d have to butcher the tune for me to turn down the likes of the Chazir.” He patted Kurtz’s shoulder.
They left Zanna to her scowling and set up in the corner spot. It amused Kurtz that the last time he’d been here was with Achan, sneaking the prince a drink and a dance. If he’d known then that he’d someday return as part of a band, he’d never have believed it.
“We’d like to play one of my cousin’s most famous songs,” Cole told Merrygog. “One she wrote celebrating our king, who she knew in her youth.”
Cole played a quick introduction on the lute, and Mistel started singing “The Pawn Our King.”
Two verses in, and Kurtz knew they’d manage their ruse just fine. One needn’t be a bard to see that Merrygog was downright smitten with Mistel. That girl knew how to draw people in, she did. Not that Kurtz wanted her here, but he had to admit Mistel Wepp had, at the very least, proved her worth.
When the song ended, Merrygog and Rilla both applauded while Zanna got up and moved beside the hearth, arms folded, glowering as if music were a beast about to bite.
“Wonderful!” Merrygog said. “You must play here this very night.”
“Well now, we’d like to, we would,” Kurtz said, “but we’ve got to make an appearance at the welcome banquet in Lytton Hall.”
“Afterward, then,” Merrygog said. “The crowds are light this time of year, but we’ll have plenty to hear you by then. And once you play and word spreads, I daresay we’ll have even more here tomorrow.”
“You’re too kind,” Mistel said.
Zanna stepped into their circle, the sound of her boots against the floor like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. “Time we got you settled, Mistel,” she said. “Though from the look of you, I wonder if we shouldn’t first stop off and get you some warmer clothes.”
The suggestion put a wide smile on the girl’s face. “Oh, that would be wonderful. It’s so cold here, and I didn’t pack the right things at all.”
Imagine that. The North cold. Kurtz had to admit Zanna had a thread more sense than the girl. Maybe having her around wouldn’t be so bad.
Mistel embraced Cole as she bid him farewell, and Kurtz tried very hard not to let his exasperation show. The girl would be back in a few hours, but by their lingering display, you’d have thought she was taking a voyage across the Northsea.
Finally, the females left, and Rilla showed Kurtz and Cole up to their room, one with a charmouse painted onto the door.
“I’ll get the fire going for you,” Rilla said, walking toward the hearth.
Cole set his things on one of the two beds. “You don’t mind if I practice a little, do you?”
“Have at it,” Kurtz said. “Sure you don’t want to eat first?”
“Naw,” Cole said. “I’ll eat at the banquet. How long until then?”
“Only about an hour, I’d say.”
As Cole fingered through a run of music, Rilla wandered back toward them, fiddling with her apron, fire blazing behind her. She hadn’t changed all that much in the past thirteen years. Put on a little weight in all the right places.
She cast him a mischievous glance, lashes fluttering, and Kurtz had little doubt she wouldn’t shy away from his touch.
“Anything else you need?” she asked.
“The lad wants to practice,” Kurtz said. “I’ll come down and have a drink.”
“Not too many,” Cole said without looking up from his lute.
Kurtz clenched his jaw. “No need to mother me, lad. I’ll be good.”
Yet the moment the door closed, leaving Rilla and Kurtz alone in the hallway, Kurtz slipped his hand around her waist, she grabbed his shoulders, and their lips met with a rush of heat.
Everything else seemed to vanish—the faint creak of the old wooden floors, the muted notes of Cole’s lute inside the room—all swallowed by the pull between them.
“What say we steal away, for memory’s sake?” Rilla whispered, jingling the keys on her belt. “Plenty of empty rooms today.”
Kurtz hummed and deepened the kiss. He hadn’t been with a woman since Wintara—almost four blasted months ago. Before the war. Before the Captain’s Row.
Before all the shame.
Well, why not? He and Rilla had been here before. They were old friends. He pulled her closer and let his thoughts buzz with the possibility of what might come next, the thought of her soft skin, the promise of more.
Dazzling white light bloomed in the corner of his vision.
Kurtz pulled back so sharply Rilla yelped.
His gaze darted to the top of the stairwell.
A golden-haired figure stood there, radiating light.
His regal features, sharp and serene, and a pair of bright blue eyes locked onto Kurtz with an intense authority that sent a chill down his spine and tightened his chest.
“Did you see someone?” Rilla asked.
Oh, aye. Nothing she could see, but Kurtz knew that the watcher standing in the Veil not only knew Kurtz’s motives, he’d come for a reason.
His heart pounded, not from kissing Rilla, but from the unmistakable feeling that whatever decision he’d been about to make had been the wrong one.
Kurtz had seen this watcher years ago—had ignored him to his own peril.
The creature’s presence was a warning, one Kurtz would not ignore. Not this time.
Never again.
“Kurtz?”
Rilla’s confused voice broke through his thoughts, but Kurtz was already fumbling with the latch on the door of his room, a bitter taste rising in his throat.
“Sorry, Rilla. I just remembered something I’ve got to do, eh?”
With that, he slipped into the room and fell face-first onto his bed.
“Short drink,” Cole said.
“Tired.” Kurtz took a few breaths to calm his racing heart, then reached for Eagan.
Kurtz Chazir, he bloodvoiced.
What is wrong? Eagan’s voice in Kurtz’s mind brought instant calm. The man was using his magical ability to affect Kurtz’s emotions even from such a distance.
What makes you ask that? Kurtz thought.
I can sense your agitation. Did something happen?
Kurtz fought back the urge to laugh. A watcher. The same one from Allowntown.
Where did you see it?
Out in the stairwell of the Ivory Spit.
Did it say anything?
Didn’t need to. Kurtz’s hands were shaking, so he squeezed them into fists. I was…with someone.
A woman?
Cole started playing a new song, a melancholy tune that fit Kurtz’s mood. He shot a glance at the lad, but he was lost in his music. This watcher didn’t come to Reshon Gate, Kurtz voiced. And not for me, anyway.
To what are you referring? Eagan asked.
I told you I saw a different watcher the day the procession was attacked, standing beside the prince, Kurtz thought. But none came about the prostitutes and the wagons. None warned me of the trouble that ended with the Captain’s Row. So, why now?
That is a fair question, Eagan said, but you know well enough Arman’s feelings on mischief of the flesh.
Kurtz blew out a long breath. And you know me well enough.
You going to be all right?
I walked away.
That is good.
Kurtz fisted the wool blanket on the bed. Didn’t feel very good.
Something else bothering you? Eagan voiced.
Aye. That infernal prison where he’d lived worse than a rat for thirteen years. That pitch-black abyss. I don’t want to go to that rotting island. What if Arman decides to lock me up again?
Oh, my friend. I do not think He will do that.
But you don’t know. Kurtz’s chest had grown so tight, he strangled the blanket, twisting the scratchy wool in his fists. Maybe the Captain’s Row wasn’t enough, eh? Could be I’m too weak to serve in this role.
If that were true, He would not have sent you. And the king would not have insisted you go.
Kurtz considered that. I’m not worthy.
None of us are.
Fine. I’m less worthy than most, then.
Hmm, that is not for you to decide, Kurtz. Now, I cannot blame your reluctance to step foot on Ice Island. I would feel exactly the same. But Arman is in this mission.
That much is clear. If the Father God was sending watchers to admonish Kurtz, He was clearly paying very close attention.
Pray, Kurtz, Eagan voiced. Pray often. And tell me if you see the watcher again.
Kurtz released a shaky breath. Will do, eh?
He severed the connection. Cole had switched songs again—now playing “Light of the World” and humming along.
So, Kurtz tried it Eagan’s way and prayed, asking Arman for forgiveness for his dark intentions with Rilla and thanking Him profusely for whatever catastrophe had just now been so narrowly avoided.
Because the last time Kurtz had ignored that watcher, King Axel had been killed.