Chapter 35
Cole
How did you tell someone you were sorry for their loss yet warn them that most people wouldn’t be?
Cole’s boots scuffed against the wooden floor as he approached Nash’s table. The noise of the tavern buzzed in his ears, but all he could focus on was the weight of the conversation he was about to have. He stopped a pace short of the table and looked down on Nash.
“We’ve worked it out,” he said. “We’ll play at the funeral.”
“Thank you.” Nash’s shoulders sagged under invisible weight. “It’s…overwhelming that he’s gone. Drustan has been a big help. Verdot Amal too.”
Exactly what Cole was afraid of. He panned his gaze around the room, but didn’t see Drustan anywhere. The absence of the brute made his heart beat faster. This was his chance.
He took a deep breath. “Listen. I know this is none of my business, but you should take care. A lot of people are going to suddenly want to be your closest friend.”
Nash frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Why do you say that?”
“I’ve seen it happen before.” Cole lowered his voice. “When Achan was discovered to be the Crown Prince, everyone wanted a piece of him. And most weren’t offering friendship—they were chasing power. Money changes people, Nash. And you suddenly have a lot of it.”
“That’s awfully cynical.”
“Maybe,” Cole said. “But I’m telling you because it’s true. Be careful who you trust. Most of the people who show up to help—people who never cared before—they’re only interested in what they can get for themselves.”
“I’m not a fool.” Nash crossed his arms. “No one is going to take advantage of me. I’m too smart for that.”
Cole resisted the urge to call the man na?ve.
“I hope you’re right, but if you’ll hear one more piece of unsolicited advice…
Your father’s legacy doesn’t have to be yours.
You have an opportunity to make a clean break.
Start fresh. Make your own future. A spotless one. Just be careful who you let get close.”
Nash’s brow pinched. He pushed to his feet and slapped Cole on the shoulder. “I’ll think about it.” Then he crossed the room and entered the office.
Cole exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. Bold words for someone who usually kept his head down. He hoped Nash wouldn’t repeat them to Drustan. The last thing Cole needed was a fight with that walking nightmare.
Feeling a bit lighter, he went and sat in his chair where his lute waited. He began tuning the strings, letting the familiar motion ease his nerves. Just as he adjusted the last peg, a sharp ache stabbed through his temples.
Cernell Crow.
Cole’s breath caught at the force of that man’s knock. He set down his lute and lowered the shields around his thoughts. Yes?
I hear you’re asking about Crispen West, Crow bloodvoiced.
Cole’s arms tingled. You know him?
In an age long past.
Do you know who framed him for murder? Cole asked.
What makes you think he was framed?
Interesting choice of words. Did he know the story? Because he said so.
A low chuckle echoed in Cole’s mind. Talked to him, did you?
At Ice Island. Last week.
Well, then. Yes, West was framed.
Cole’s pulse pounded in his ears. Then who’s to blame?
Fenris Yarden, Crow said. Back when he was training for the army, he had a habit of sneaking off during his shifts. He and West looked a lot alike, so Fenris often used West’s name to keep himself out of trouble.
So the tailor and his wife only knew Fenris by the name Crispen West? Cole asked.
By no other, Crow voiced. His father didn’t much appreciate his son’s obsession with fashion.
Cole’s fists clenched. Fenris had killed that tailor, and Cole’s father had taken the blame. Why are you telling me this?
Fenris is dead. No need to carry his secrets anymore.
Ahh. All this time Cole had thought his father had gone to prison to protect Fenris and his men, but if Fenris had framed him from the start, then his father had never been a shield. He’d been a sacrifice. Thank you, he thought to Crow. I appreciate that more than I can ever say.
Remember me with a coin next time we meet.
I’ll do that.
The pressure in Cole’s mind vanished as Crow ended their connection.
A grin spread across his face. He had answers. Real ones. He leaped off his chair and rushed to the storage room, eager to share the news with Mistel. When he pushed the door open, he found the room empty.
Odd.
Cole frowned and walked back into the tavern. His gaze panned the room, searching for those ginger curls.
Nothing.
He strode to the table where Kurtz sat. “Have you seen Mistel?”
“Not since the two of you headed into the hallway,” Kurtz said.
A chill ran up Cole’s spine.
“So guess what?” Kurtz said. “We have to—”
“Where could she have gone?” Cole asked.
Kurtz stood up. “Calm your ruffled feathers. I’ll check the outhouse and stables. You wait here in case she returns.”
While Kurtz rushed off, Cole made a lap around the tavern, eyeing every table carefully to make sure Mistel hadn’t joined some new friends for a chat.
When that yielded nothing, he checked the storage room again, then went into the kitchen, as Mistel occasionally talked with the barmaids while they filled pitchers and plates.
No one had seen her.
His stomach slid down into his boots.
Nash emerged from the office, and Cole stalked toward him. “Have you seen Mistel?”
“She was talking to Drustan a few minutes ago,” Nash said.
Cole’s blood ran cold. “Where?”
Nash hesitated, then showed Cole a narrow passage between the office and kitchen. “That door at the end leads outside.”
Cole’s feet were already moving. He shoved open the heavy oak door, which scraped an arc through a layer of fresh snow. Large flakes drifted from above, quickly covering his head and shoulders.
“Mistel?” Cole yelled, forming fresh boot prints as he made his way around to the back door. He caught sight of Kurtz in the distance, headed back in from the stables.
Kurtz Chazir.
Cole lowered his shields. Anything?
Kurtz shook his head and bloodvoiced, No sign of her.
Mistel was gone.