Chapter 7 Just for Show
SOUNDTRACK: One Last Breath by Tommee Profitt and Nicole Serrano
~ brEN ~
I needed to stop shaking. I really fucking needed to stop shaking.
Once we’d ascertained that Ruin was really gone, and not waiting in hiding for us, Donavyn urged me to change my clothes.
He wanted to talk to the innkeeper, and send a message back to the king about Ruin’s presence, using the networks here in the city.
Yet, he refused to leave me in the room alone.
I swung between grateful and pissed that he wouldn’t leave me.
But it meant I needed to change before we went downstairs.
Donavyn stood over me while I undressed, then quickly changed into the blouse and skirt.
Or tried to. Once again, I hooked a toe on the waistband and overbalanced—this time because I was trying to pull the skirt up over my leathers and boots.
Donavyn caught my elbow, so I didn’t fall.
I cursed and yanked the skirt up, ignoring that crumbling feeling in my chest, fumbling with the buttons and hissing until Donavyn caught my hands again, and I fought him for a moment.
“I just need to get these stupid fucking—”
“Bren, look at me.”
I went still, no longer fighting him. His tone was soft. Soothing. Serious. And I was suddenly reluctant to meet his eyes, because it felt like ripping my chest open and exposing my heart.
‘Bren?’ he sent with quiet insistence.
When I finally looked up, his brows were heavy, shadowing his eyes. His forehead lined with concern.
‘I’ve got you. You’re safe.’
I swallowed back a lump the size of my fist and nodded. ‘I know.’
‘No, you don’t. But it’s true. Breathe for me. Long and deep. Count down from five… four… three…’
It was stupid. Ridiculous. Childish that his tenderness made me weaker. I wanted to fight, to grit my teeth and pull my hands out of his gentle grip. But when I tensed, he tightened his hold and shook his head.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said softly, his eyes clear but intense. “You get those buttons straight—I’ll help you if you need me to. Then you hold my hand and we’re going downstairs. Just a soldier with his young wife, remember?”
I nodded, swallowing hard.
“I’m going to have a very short, but very clear discussion with Horace—it’s not going to end well. But that’s not a problem. Then we’re leaving. And we’re never coming back to this place. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now please, Bren. Breathe.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding the air in my lungs.
It whooshed out, then I inhaled again. Donavyn kept talking to me calmly, slowly as he helped me get the buttons straight—because I’d buttoned the shirt in the wrong holes.
Then, exactly as he’d promised, when I was ready, he gathered all the things into the bag he’d left there, hurriedly scrawled a message on a piece of parchment that he shoved deep in the bag, then slung it over his other shoulder, gripped my hand in his, and led me out of the room, down the stairs to the raucous tavern below.
My body wanted to shrink, but I just gripped Donavyn’s hand tighter, lifted my chin and focused on his back as he led me through the room, stopping at the bar to ask one of the barmaids to find Horace, right now.
The woman’s eyes widened. She didn’t even drop the cup and cloth she was using to dry it, just hurried out of the bar and returned moments later with the rumpled Horace, looking awake, but confused.
The moment he saw Donavyn, his expression went blank.
Donavyn turned without a word to walk into that back alcove room.
There were only two men back there, playing a game of chess, obviously hoping to avoid the noise and bustle of the busy inn tavern.
Donavyn strode straight to the table in the opposite corner and sat down, pulling me to his side. Horace took the seat across from us just moments later.
“It is late, Lord Duran, but I could find a messenger—”
“We’ll discuss that in a moment,” Donavyn leaned over the tabletop, his eyes blazing. “You’re going to explain, very quickly, what the fuck you were thinking giving access to our room to anyone else.”
Horace blinked, then looked over Donavyn’s shoulder at the room beyond before leaning closer himself and lowering his voice even further.
“Sir… he’s an ally. He’s been near for weeks now, faithfully reporting back to our…
family. He gave all the correct signals and… ” Horace frowned. “Is he an imposter?”
“No,” Donavyn growled, his expression flat. “What he is, is not myself or my wife. Your instructions were explicit.”
“Sir,” Horace’s tone became placating. “I helped him because I knew you worked together. You’d always said if any ally called for you—”
“Called for me, yes. Giving him the key to my quarters? What if he’d been followed? What if he’d turned? My instructions to you were clear.”
“I am sincerely sorry if it was the wrong choice, but there was no malice, Lord Duran,” he said insistently. “It’s an error I will not make again.”
“It is an error, Horace. A grave error.”
Horace frowned. “Sir… should I not trust him? He gives the signals and knows the network—”
“That isn’t my concern,” Donavyn insisted. “I take no risks. When I say no one is to be given access, I mean no one. Ever. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. I won’t—”
“Horace, hear me.” Donavyn’s voice dropped to a deep, grave tone. “Do you remember the original instructions I gave you in the event of a breach?”
I stared between them as Horace’s face fell. “Yes. Yes, sir. I’m very sorry if—”
Donavyn dug into the bag at his side, but his eyes never left the innkeeper’s.
“Remember our purpose,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him over the noise in the tavern on the other side of the wall.
Then, as Horace nodded sadly, Donavyn surreptitiously slipped the paper across to him, then shot to his feet.
“I was assured you were better than this!” he snarled at the man, startling me with his apparent rage, leaning over the table to level a finger under the Innkeeper’s nose.
Horace, who had pocketed the message, also suddenly appeared red-faced angry, spluttered. “Our arrangement was—”
“Your arrangements are for shit. This establishment has benefited from my patronage for too long.”
Horace rose to his feet, pulling a cleaning rag from the back of his trousers and winding it around his hand as if he prepared to use it. “I would agree, Lord Duran. Far too long.”
“You’ll regret crossing me!” Donavyn bellowed.
“The good Lord be my witness, sir, I don’t believe I will!”
With a growl of displeasure, Donavyn grabbed my hand again and stormed from the room, dragging me with him, Horace calling taunts after him that drew the attention of all the men in the tavern, but only for moments, because Donavyn marched out the front door and into the street without looking back.
The moment the door closed behind us, he pulled me close to his side again, keeping us to the shadows and watching over his shoulder as we trotted down the street, slipping in and out of sight as much as we could.
‘What was that—?’ I started shakily, but Donavyn’s voice filled my head, solid, warm, and resolute.
‘Ruin knows every Shadowfang contact and safehouse in the City. He trusts Horace with messages—we all do—because Horace manages the network that sends runners between here and the king. I want everyone to know I’m not returning—that I have, in fact, burned that bridge.
Horace was playing along, and he’ll be watching Ruin now, if Ruin returns. ’
‘You think Ruin will come back?’
‘It depends how much he trusts his contacts who report on that little show. If nothing else, he’ll be back to see if he can find us. Now, he’ll have heard that we left in a flurry of anger and accusations, and with time he’ll learn we never returned. I want him continuing to trust Horace.’
I was relieved when we reached the bridge and Donavyn turned to lead me towards the city gates. Towards our dragons. ‘I’ll establish a new bolthole for us,’ he sent grimly. ‘Show it to you when it’s established and I’m certain it’s safe.’
‘But if he knows all the contacts—’
‘He knows the official Shadowfang contacts. But I’ve served in Fyrehold before. I have contacts of my own. Not so easily accessed, but safer under the circumstances. I just want to come back at a time I’m certain I’m not followed,’ he said with another glance over his shoulder.
‘You think he’s following us right now?’ I asked, looking back myself.
‘If he’s the mole, he’d absolutely follow—and one thing that bastard was always good at was hiding and sneaking. Like a fucking snake. If he doesn’t want us to see him, chances are, we won’t.’
I sighed, nodding. I’d always been thrilled when Ruin would show up at my barn—but I never once heard him approach, and never knew how long he’d observed me before he cleared his throat or spoke so I’d know he was there.
The thought gave me shivers now. I pushed more memories away as Donavyn led me out of the city and out to the road towards the dragons.
We walked for a few minutes from the gates, Donavyn still holding my hand and checking over our shoulders, until he took a deep breath and I felt some of the tension go out of him. Only some. But he never let go.
‘Tell me,’ he sent softly.
‘Tell you what?’
‘Tell me how it happened. How you found him—precisely what happened. And where. We’re about to return to the castle. I assume Hanson was a part of this? Did he set a trap for you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He was genuinely surprised. When Ruin saw me, he thought I’d gone looking for him. He still saw the farmgirl and Hanson stood up for me—’
‘Start at the beginning, Bren. Tell me everything. We’re going to the dragons, because that’s our safest place. But we aren’t flying until I know exactly how this all came to be, and then we’re going to figure out our next step.’
I took a deep breath, then told him all of it, from the beginning. The dress scheme with Faye. The arrival at the dragons with Hanson—who’d clearly flown before, but was inexperienced.
‘…but none of those dragons would speak to Akhane, so I told Hanson we should go get Benji and—’
I cut off, inhaling sharply and stopped dead in my tracks. Oh shit.
“Bren? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Benji,” I breathed, then looked up at him, loathing myself. “I just left him there with the dragons, Donavyn. And Hanson.”
His brows drew down tight. “Well, shit.”