Chapter 16
Cole
Cole’s boots crunched over the frosty ground as he left Cherix at Fat Vandy’s and made his way down the street. The early morning sky blushed pink and blue. The cold had turned his cheeks numb and his breath to vapor. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and the empty streets only deepened the chill.
The Ice House loomed ahead on the corner, a two-story structure of dark wood, its roof heavy with snow. Icicles hung from the eaves like jagged teeth, gleaming in the morning light. Intricate dagfish carvings framed the door and shutters, proof someone valued both craftsmanship and luxury.
A hollow call rang out—soft and sorrowful—ending in three clear trills.
The whistle was their signal, another part of Cole’s training.
He followed the sound to a figure across the street from the Ice House.
Kurtz, leaning against a building, arms folded, gaze sharp beneath the brim of his dark cloak.
As Cole neared, two more figures stepped from the shadows: Zanna and Mistel.
What were they doing here?
“You’re late,” Kurtz muttered as he pushed off the wall. “And you didn’t tell me you’d invited the women.”
“I didn’t invite them.” Cole eyed Mistel’s rosy cheeks. “Why are you here?”
“Because we’re a team,” Mistel said. “Because I got us hired here for tonight. And because you need me.”
“We don’t—”
Shut your yap, lad, Kurtz bloodvoiced. If you don’t want the girl to hate you, don’t say things you’ll regret. Then he said aloud, “Thusk went hunting this morning with Joonas Erlichman.”
“Erlichman is a local businessman,” Zanna said. “Sells boar for the rich to hunt. He’s also the head of the ruling council.”
Kurtz didn’t bother softening his tone. “I know who he is.”
“If you’re going to stay here, I’ll post myself around back,” Zanna said.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Kurtz said.
“And I didn’t ask for permission.” Zanna took off across the street. Mistel followed her.
Cole smirked at Kurtz. “Don’t say mean things, huh?”
Kurtz grunted. “Difference is, I don’t want that one to like me. Let’s get this done.”
Kurtz took position catty-cornered from the alehouse. Cole hesitated before heading down the alley to join Mistel and Zanna around back where an exterior staircase led up to a narrow door.
Zanna nodded across the alley. “I’ll wait just there.”
Cole inhaled deeply and glanced at Mistel. “I suppose you’re coming with me?”
“Of course.” She grinned, flashing her winsome overbite.
Arman, help me, Cole prayed.
They climbed the stairs. On the square platform at the top, Cole tried the keys. The fourth one clicked, and they crept into a dark, dusty room. Dim light squeezed through slats in the shutters, revealing a cluttered desk, shelves lined with ledgers, and bottles of what looked like alcohol.
“It’s cold in here,” Mistel said.
Cole stepped lightly, trying to avoid creaking floorboards. He reached the desk and flipped through a ledger. They needed proof—smuggling, piracy, anything illegal. It had to be here.
Mistel lifted a bottle from a shelf and examined it. “Excited for tonight? It’s our first show.”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
He considered the question. “My music has always been personal. Playing for a rowdy crowd makes me…” He trailed off.
Mistel tilted her head, a knowing glint in her eye. “The first time I sang for a crowd, I thought I’d faint.”
“You? Nervous?”
“Terrified. I was eight, visiting Sitna’s midsummer festival. I begged my mother to let me sing a song, but when I stepped on stage and saw all those people staring…” She shuddered. “I froze.”
Cole fought back a smirk. The idea of Mistel suffering stage fright felt absurd. “What happened?”
Mistel’s expression softened. “My mother knelt beside me and whispered, ‘Pretend you’re singing to the stars. They’re always listening, and they never judge.’”
“The stars? That worked?”
“Not at first.” Mistel chuckled, her eyes glossy. “It was midday, and I stood there like a fool, staring up at a blue sky. But then I closed my eyes and imagined it was only me and the stars. And I just…sang. When I looked up again, the crowd was clapping.”
Cole crossed his arms. “Doubt that’ll help when half the alehouse is drunk.”
“Well, if it doesn’t, find one friendly face in the crowd, and play for them.”
Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “What if I can’t find one?”
“Then focus on me.” Mistel traced her finger over the back of his hand. “I’ll be right there, cheering you on.”
Warmth stirred in Cole’s chest. He glanced down at their hands, wanting to grab hold, knowing he shouldn’t, wondering if their differences were too great to overcome.
“Better keep looking.” He pulled his hand away, and for a split second, hurt flashed across her face. It was gone in a breath, though, and she set about searching a bookshelf.
Cole opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of invoices. Spotted the name Erlichman on the top one.
“Thusk ships boar for Erlichman,” he said, paging through the invoices. “He sold to Abidan Levy in Sitna, Julian Coble in Land’s End, Angaro Boar in Meneton. Ships all over Er’Rets, it looks like.”
Mistel moved beside him and peered at the paper. Her hair brushed against his ear, and he couldn’t help feeling a little warmer, despite the chilled room.
The invoices were detailed, listing recipients of goods, amounts shipped, and destinations. A name on the third invoice twisted Cole’s stomach.
“Jaira Hamartano,” he muttered. “She hunts for sport?”
“Who?” Mistel asked.
Cole exhaled. Who, indeed. “Daughter of Jaelport’s ruling lady. She fancies herself a princess. Not exactly the hunting type.”
Mistel pointed at another name. “This one was shipped by Verdot Amal. Isn’t he the one who runs Ice Island?”
“Yes…” Cole frowned. “I could see Amal buying livestock to feed prisoners, but selling it doesn’t make sense.” He flipped through more invoices. Dozens listed Verdot Amal as the shipper.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air, sending a jolt through Cole.
“That’s Zanna’s signal,” Mistel whispered.
“Zanna has a signal of her own?” Cole asked.
“Why shouldn’t she?”
Didn’t matter. Cole shoved the invoice into his pocket and the rest back into the drawer. He hurried to the window and spotted Zanna speaking to a man who was ascending the stairs.
“It’s one of Thusk’s men,” Cole whispered. “I saw him at the banquet.”
His heart pounded as he spun, searching for a place to hide.
“In here!” Mistel yanked open a narrow door. A broom closet. Cole noted its lock and slipped inside. Mistel followed, her skirts brushing his leg as she pulled the door shut.
In the dark, Cole fumbled with Thusk’s keys, hands trembling as he tried one after another. The jingle of metal seemed deafening in the cramped space. Finally, the lock clicked. He tucked the keys into his pocket and stilled.
Someone’s coming, Kurtz bloodvoiced.
We saw. We’re hiding.
If it comes to it, don’t confront him. Invent a story.
Right. A story for why he and Mistel were hiding in a closet. He could only think of one.
Cole heard nothing but their breathing and his pulse pounding in his ears.
The closet barely fit one person, let alone two.
Mistel’s shoulder pressed against his chest, her warm breath tickling his ear.
The faint scent of mint, lemon, and parchment clung to her.
He turned his head, and his nose brushed hers.
He swallowed hard, locking his gaze on the inky darkness above her head.
His body betrayed him, every nerve on high alert.
He wanted to kiss her—oh, how he wanted to—but he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Cousins and all.
A door creaked. Bootsteps.
The intruder clomped across the floor, pausing at the desk.
Papers rustled. Drawers slammed. Cole shifted, his boot scuffing Mistel’s.
She grabbed his wrist, stilling him, then ran her fingers along the beads of the bracelet she’d given him months ago.
The trinket he couldn’t bear to part with, even as he pretended, daily, not to care for her.
The footsteps were moving again, growing louder. Outside the closet.
The latch rattled.
Cole held his breath. Arman, keep us safe.
Mistel’s fingers tightened around Cole’s wrist. The intruder cursed, shook the latch again before stepping back.
Then the footsteps retreated. The front door creaked and finally clicked shut.
The office fell silent.
Mistel released a long sigh.
Cole didn’t move. He strained his ears, waiting for any sound that might signal the man’s return—or that he’d only pretended to leave and was waiting right outside the closet.
You’re in the clear, Kurtz bloodvoiced. He’s coming down.
Cole released a slow, shaky breath. Thank you, Arman. “Kurtz said he’s gone.”
Mistel shifted, her nose grazing his chin, the lemony smell of her hair intoxicating.
“Well, this is cozy,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.
Cole huffed a nervous laugh, very aware of how close her body was to his and how it made his heart race. “Terrifying is a better word.”
“I wouldn’t mind if it happened again.” She laced her fingers with his.
Time to move or Mistel’s suggestion of kissing cousins was going to become a prophecy fulfilled. Cole squeezed her hand, then let go and pulled out the keys. “Good thing I locked it.”
“If it had opened, I was going to kiss you. Best excuse for being in a closet together.”
Cole chuckled, his cheeks warm. “That was my only idea too.”
He unlocked the door, and cool air rushed in. Cole walked into the now-empty office.
Mistel came alongside him and tugged his rope belt. “Why a rope? You used to wear a leather one.”
“Kurtz’s idea. Says it’s always handy to have rope.”
“And the bracelet?” She ran her finger along the beads.
“You gave it to me.”
“You must really like it.”
Fishing for compliments again. He didn’t mind. He wanted to say “I really like you,” but all that came out was “I…do like it.”