Chapter 5
A s soon as he was in the sanctuary of the hall, Calder released a whispered string of curses. Raking his hands through his hair, he fought the urge to drive his fist into the stone walls of the passage. He needed a drink far more than a broken hand—the promise of the former led him down the corridor and toward the banquet hall.
In the courtyard, he could already hear the shouts of the men’s revelry echoing through the keep. Noise and the scent of musk slammed against him as he swung open the heavy door of the hall. It was not often that he found himself down here and drinking with the other men. He was brought to the keep for his expertise, not his likability, and preferred to keep his alcohol consumption separate from his work. The physical pain in his side and the metaphorical pain in his ass caused him to break that rule. What was one more, given that he had already broken several?
Dozens of men crowded around the long tables littered with coins, stones, and ale. While outside of the keep, the debaucherous atmosphere would be a welcomed distraction, the rowdy energy in the room only tugged at his fraying nerves. It was peace he craved because that reduced the likelihood that he would rip into anyone who crossed him in his current agitated state. Grabbing a mug, he dipped into the barrel of ale and retreated to a table in the far corner of the room. He took a deep drink, holding the liquid in his mouth as if it would wash away the bitterness of the day, and closed his eyes.
The air around him stirred just a moment before he heard a body drop into the chair across from him and he did not need to open his eyes to know who it was that imposed on his respite. He could smell him.
Fucking figures.
“Dempsey,” Calder said to the inside of his mug just before taking another deep draw.
“Calder,” Dempsey acknowledged in return.
While Dempsey possessed charm, when weighed and measured by Calder’s standards, he had been found wanting. Calder, not being one to mince his words, did not make it a secret that he thought the man was a cretin. Being a cretin, Dempsey developed an unhealthy obsession—one rooted in disdain rather than desire.
“Exhaustion doesn’t look good on you, old man,” Dempsey observed as he took a sip of his ale.
It was a common slight despite Calder hardly being older than Dempsey. However, if Dempsey counted time in achievements rather than sunsets, the discrepancy between them would have been notable indeed.
“Nor does envy on you,” Calder remarked in a humorless tone.
Dempsey scowled. “You weren’t sparring today… I merely wanted to make sure you were in good health.”
His observation was true, even if the other half of the statement wasn’t.
Given the present circumstances, it was less than ideal for anyone to be watching Calder’s movements too closely. The fact that it was Dempsey drawing attention to it made the unfortunate timing that much more problematic.
If Calder had something, Dempsey wanted to take it. Hence, of all the available seats in the hall, he chose the one Calder intended to put his feet on. It was a venture met with little success and usually nothing more than an annoyance. However at present, what Calder had was a castaway he failed to extract information from hidden away in his room. His thoughts flickered to the green-eyed girl, likely cursing him from somewhere in the keep before returning to the problem at hand.
“The last I checked, I didn't report to you or anyone in this keep, for that matter. But I'm delighted my absence wounded you,” he responded with a slight smirk before taking another sip.
Dempsey'seyes were hungry, a scavenger scenting blood, so much so that Calder was tempted to check if the wound in his side had given him away. Ironically,Calder'sblood was one of the main reasons why Dempsey despised him. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, knees spread wide and taking up space, ensuring his face remained impassive despite the pain admonishing his arrogant posture.
“Does it bother you?”he asked with a sigh.
Dempsey straightened.
“That despite your name and your coin, it is my approval you need here, and it is the one thing you cannot buy?”
“One day, you will fall from your pedestal,”Dempsey warned as he stood from the chair.
“Good thingI’vegot wings,”he retorted, aclick of his tongueand a wink further punctuating his defiance. Though the wings he spoke of were figurative, a tattoo worn by members of his clan, their meaning remained the same.
Ravens do not fall.
Dempsey’s lips curled in a feral sneer. It was far too easy to get a rise from the man, and perhaps Calder shouldn’t make it a habit to do so, or maybe Dempsey should not make it a habit to approach him. Having been unsuccessful in achieving whatever he had come for, Dempsey spat a curse under his breath and stormed back into the crowd .
Why he was being subjected to everyone else’s tantrums today, only the Elders knew.
Although his outward expression remained unbothered, internally, Calder began to wonder if Dempsey knew more than he let on. He could have seen the girl and that would be problematic. Despite the fact that the solitude of his corner was restored, his agitation remained. If the growing nuisance had been following him, he could have seen the altercation on the shore. Slamming his mug on the table, Calder stood and exited the hall.
By the time he returned to his room, the sun had dropped from the sky. He found his newly acquired problem seated by the fire when he opened the door and had no doubt that she halted rummaging through his things to race across the room at the sound of his approach.
He shot her an incredulous glare and shook his head, not bothering to hide his exhaustion from her. To his surprise rather than challenging it, she seemed relieved she would not have to rise to the occasion.
“I’m not in the mood to be stabbed in my sleep and I am tired. Be a good girl and allow me to escort you to your cell. As a non-helpless maiden, I’m sure that won’t be problematic,” his mocking tone paired well with the mischief in his eyes.
He remained in the doorway, motioning for her to exit the room. She followed his instruction, but not before grabbing her dress and the cloak he had offered earlier, intending to use the latter as a blanket. Stopping in front of him, she donned her most disingenuous smile and curtsied. Her smile grew more natural as she saw his features pinch in annoyance.
She left the room and began down the long hallway.
“Merrow,” he called from further behind her.
Emer turned to find him standing at the room across from his. Taking a key out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. The sight had her alternating between surprise, relief, and suspicion .
Aside from the lack of personal items and burning fire, the room was similar to his. Hardly a cell.
“You are quite honestly exhausting, and the cells are a fair distance from here. I have no interest in making that journey to determine whether or not you have done something spectacularly stupid throughout the night,” he said.
While his reasoning was suspect at best, she did not argue. Sleep deprivation would not help her cause, and a bed was the preferable choice over the damp floor of a cell.
“So, you were just trying to scare me?”
Calder tilted his head in that slow and feral manner. “I don’t try anything. If I want something, it happens.”
His wolfish grin revealed dazzling canines as he backed into the darkened corridor and closed the door—locking her away from the Isle and her purpose that lay further inland.
Her eyes welled with tears, but they were not the same unruly tears of sadness she had wept earlier. They were the hot and bitter tears of unbridled rage. It tore through her with a force that reduced her soul to ribbons. She threw the cloak and the dress as she fell forward, her knees colliding with the stone floor. Emer pressed her face against the bed to smother her scream. She screamed until her throat felt raw.
Once the intense ringing that flooded her ears receded, she slowly blinked her eyes. She had been so focused on the things missing from the room that she hadn’t noticed the one significant thing the room did possess.
A window.
She scrambled onto the bed and ran her fingers over its edges. Pressing against the glass, she felt hope begin to give under her palm.