Chapter 23 #2
“She’s no friend of mine. This is Kosotta Brovau, it is. She and Verdot Amal used to be quite the pair.”
“That ended a decade ago,” she said.
“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Kurtz shot back. “Kosotta was once a nursemaid to the infant king.”
“To Achan?” Cole asked, shocked.
Kosotta turned to Mistel. “What’ll you have?”
“Dinner for all of us, please,” Mistel said.
“I’ll bring it right out.” Kosotta strode away.
“Bring some answers with the meal, eh?” Kurtz called after her.
Kosotta glared over her shoulder before passing into the kitchen.
“She’ll spit in your food,” Mistel said. “Frix always did that when someone annoyed him.”
“Why does she hate you?” Cole asked.
Kurtz sank onto his chair. “She was there when King Axel was killed. Testified against me to the Council.”
“She didn’t seem eager to talk,” Zanna said.
“No, she wouldn’t, would she?” Kurtz said. “But I’d like to talk to her.”
Yet Kosotta didn’t return. Another barmaid served their meal.
“Rotting coward.” Kurtz pushed to his feet and marched toward the kitchen.
Cole didn’t know what to think of Kurtz and his side mission to exonerate himself. He hoped the man’s agenda didn’t end up blowing their cover. They weren’t supposed to be royalists, after all.
He had just taken a bite of stew when the door swung open, ushering in a gust of icy wind and Cernell Crow.
The old man shuffled forward, cane tapping out a steady rhythm as he navigated around tables.
For some reason, he was without the band of cloth over his eyes today.
At first, he seemed to be passing through, but then he altered course, heading straight for their table.
Cole rose sharply, his chair scraping against the floor. He intercepted the man before he got too close. “Looking for someone, Master Crow?”
Crow tilted his head, milky-white gaze eerily perceptive. “Just wanted to thank the band. You’re the lute player, aren’t you?”
Something in the blind man’s stare put every instinct on alert. “How do you know that?”
Crow chuckled, dry and brittle. “I’m blind, boy, not deaf. I recognize your voice.”
Cole’s shoulders tensed. “I’ll share your compliment with the band, but let’s be clear—you stay out of our heads.”
Crow’s forehead creased. “Wasn’t my idea,” he muttered. “It’s not easy being old and blind and at the mercy of powerful men. If I’m not useful, I’m on the street. It’s happened before.”
Someone had orchestrated the attack on Mistel? Cole’s hands formed fists at his sides. “Who asked you to do it?”
Crow hesitated, then sighed. “Young Master Erlichman. Master Fawst put him up to it, and the boy can’t resist a dare.”
Cole should have known. He leaned in, voice a harsh whisper. “If anyone asks you to use your magic against us again, you’ll regret it.”
“Big words,” Crow said with a faint, bitter smile. “But no need to worry. The girl’s shielded now. She’s safe from me.”
Cole returned to the table, appetite soured. Mistel watched him, brow furrowed.
Zanna stood up, glaring after Crow. “What did he want?”
“To compliment the band,” Cole replied. “I told him to leave us alone.”
Mistel’s gaze flicked to Crow. “Do you think he will?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Cole said. “Your mind is shielded.”
She nodded but fidgeted with the edge of her scarf. Zanna sat again, but none of them could eat after that. Cole studied the room, cataloging faces, looking for threats. What did Prince Oren hope they’d find here?
Kurtz returned like a thundercloud and fell into his chair. “She’s gone. I literally scared the woman away, I did. If that doesn’t prove she’s guilty of something, I don’t know what does.”
Well, they were off to a fine start tonight. By the time they took the stage, the crowd had thickened. Cole led them through three songs, and the familiar rhythms eased his nerves.
Sir Fenris arrived with Ikard, their presence commanding attention even in the packed tavern. Cole tracked them to the back where Fenris took his regular seat. Cernell Crow soon slid in beside him.
Midway through the fifth song, Cole spotted Derby Wenk enter with a group of soldiers, including Lord Livna and Lovell Dunn. They wove through the crowd to Fenris’s table in back. Stood in conversation for a full two verses.
Cole had barely finished the final chord of “Confidence” when an empty tankard clattered onto the stage near Mistel’s feet along with scattered applause. She yelped, leaping back, and her smile faltered.
Cole stood up, holding the neck of his lute in one hand. “Time for a break.”
“I need to visit the privy,” Mistel murmured.
Zanna, who’d been sitting at a table in front, rose and joined Mistel. “I’ll go with you.”
As the women disappeared down the hall, Cole and Kurtz settled at Zanna’s vacated table, Cole still watching the crowd to try and figure out who had thrown the tankard.
Suddenly, Fenris was on the move. Cole’s gaze followed him as he led Lord Livna and another man across the room and into a side office, leaving Ikard and Lovell outside the door.
“What’s Lord Livna doing here?” Cole asked.
Kurtz pushed to his feet. “Dunno. I’ll ask Dunn.” He disappeared into the throng.
Cole’s attention returned to Fenris’s table where Derby handed Master Crow a satchel. The old man fumbled inside and pulled out a pair of fur-lined boots. Bribes for the bloodvoicer?
Derby left Crow and headed across the room toward Dunn and the door he and Ikard were guarding.
As Derby approached Cole’s table, Cole nodded toward Crow and asked, “Running a charity ward?”
“Those aren’t from me. Lady Viola sent them.” Derby’s gaze flicked to the stage. “You’re playing here? Why?”
Cole shrugged, forcing a casualness he didn’t feel. “The pay’s good.”
Derby’s frown deepened. “I kept quiet on the journey home because you were always with Kurtz, but…what are you doing here? You were squire to the king. Don’t you care what happens to him?”
Cole set down his mug harder than intended. “Of course I care.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Derby said. “Why abandon him his first month in Armonguard to play bard in a place like this?”
Cole shifted, wishing he could say the king had sent him. Movement near the kitchen caught his eye. Mistel and Zanna emerged from the hallway, laughing softly. Good. Mistel was smiling.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m just not a killer, I guess.”
Derby’s brows pinched. “None of us would call ourselves killers. But sometimes that’s what it takes to keep people safe.”
“I meant no offense,” Cole said. “But I have to be who I am, and Arman made me a musician.”
The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of snow as Nash and Drustan entered. Nash scanned the room, quickly spotting Mistel as she moved toward the stage.
Cole’s jaw tightened. Drustan took a seat at a table, but Nash continued on. Cole tracked his movement, pulse quickening as the man headed straight for Mistel.
“I think you’d fight for what you care about,” Derby said.
Cole blinked, taking in Derby’s words. The challenge behind them.
Then it clicked. Yes, he would. And he cared about Mistel. More than he wanted to admit.
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me a moment, Derby.”
He strode toward Nash, cutting him off before he could reach Mistel.
“Question for you,” Cole said softly. “Did you put Crow up to controlling Mistel with his magic?”
Nash hesitated, and his face flushed. “Just having a bit of fun.”
“She was terrified, and using bloodvoicing like that is unethical. Just…stay away from Mistel.”
Nash raised his hands. “Sorry! Didn’t mean any harm. I’ll back off.”
Really? Just like that? Maybe Cole didn’t need to be a strapping warrior. Maybe he just needed to speak up—fight for what mattered.
“Cole!” Mistel waved him over to the stage.
“Thank you,” Cole told Nash, then turned to go.
But Nash called after him, voice just loud enough to carry. “Bit protective of your cousin, aren’t you?”
Cole froze.
A few nearby patrons turned their heads. Mistel tilted hers, brows knitting as she watched him.
“Shut it, Erlichman,” Cole said through gritted teeth, but his gut twisted.
Had anyone heard?
Again Nash held up his hands, innocent as ever.
“No offense. Drustan mentioned you didn’t have any family left, besides your uncle on Ice Island.
Knew the man didn’t have a daughter. But hey”—he leaned in slightly, voice lowering—“I understand. Sometimes people make up stories to protect the ones they care about.”
Cole said nothing, fists clenching at his sides.
“If word got out Mistel wasn’t really your cousin…” Nash gave a sympathetic shrug. “Then she’s just a single woman traveling with two men. And that’s simply not done. Right?”
Cole stared at him, trying to read between the lines. Was Nash offering to keep their secret? Or threatening that he wouldn’t?
“I’ve got a song to play,” Cole said, then turned and walked back to the stage, heart hammering.
Mistel handed him his lute, her gaze searching his face. “Everything all right?”
“Brilliant,” he lied. “Let’s give them a show.”
But as his fingers moved automatically over the lute strings, he couldn’t stop scanning the room. Not for threats, but for evidence of cracks. In their cover. In his control. In the satisfied smirk on Drustan’s face.
And he couldn’t help thinking I’ve ruined everything.