Chapter 14
Iburst into the room. “Did he hurt you?”
She doesn’t look up. Bent over her bed, Thea readies my corset, her hands shaking as she loosens the ties. I close the door and cross to her. Finger marks dot the upper half of her arm—ones that will surely leave a bruise.
I inhale a slow, steady breath and blanket her hands with mine. “Thea.”
A tear falls from her eyes and splashes on the silk dress thrown over the edge of the bed. Her fingers pause, and she turns, tears glistening in her eyes.
“He hurt me,” she whispers, jaw trembling.
I wipe a tear from her cheek. “We’ll make him pay for everything.”
“When you win and wish for that ship, I’m going to leave with you.”
A weak smile tugs at my lips. “I know you will.”
Firelight flickers as I help her loosen the rest of the laces. I trace over the half-moon indents where Caelus’s nails dug in. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked me where you were, but when I said you were feeling unwell and stayed behind in the room, he got angrier.”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
“Because he came in here and checked.”
I stiffen and scan the room. “He was in here? Alone?”
Without waiting for her answer, I lunge toward the vanity. My pulse thrashes in my ears, and my legs drag, like I’m trudging through knee deep water.
I drop to the floor and rip the bottom drawer open. Various creams and perfumes shift at the disturbance, and I shove my hand into the very back.
My fingers scramble along the base of the drawer until they brush a small box.
I yank it out and rip off the lid. A shuddering, relieved breath escapes my mouth. He didn’t find my compass.
Running my finger over the worn, wooden face, I press until the ridges bite into my skin. Rather than cardinal directions, gold constellations act as guides. Aethra—effortlessly drawing back an arrow—points the way to Delterran.
Thea’s hand falls on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I replace the lid and slide it to the back of the drawer, concealing it with layers of washrags. “I’ll tell him I was out, searching for a healer.”
The servant’s door cracks open, and Gemma slips in. She gathers her hair into a low bun and crosses her arms, eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Thea’s gaze swings to me. “What is she talking about?”
I raise my hands. “We don’t have time to argue—”
“Briar—or should I say Harriet—went toe to toe with Caelus when she was meant to lay low.”
Marianne follows her through the door, eyes sparkling. “It was brilliant.”
“He hurt you,” I whisper, glancing at Thea. “I was angry.”
She rubs her hands over the blossoming bruises and looks away.
Gemma sighs and crosses the room, cupping my face in her hands. “You’re a damn fool, Briar, but I admire your courage.”
I close my eyes as her power slips beneath my skin and removes the glamour. My hair snakes down my back, and in the mirror I catch it shifting from ashy blonde to a deep, chestnut brown.
“We’re more alike than you think,” I say. “You’re just as brave.”
“Maybe.” She swallows, and her eyes go distant. “But I wish I didn’t have to be.”
Marianne slides her arms under my ballgown and lifts it from the bed, nodding at me. “Go on, then. It’ll take a moment to lace you up.”
I unbutton my dress shirt and slide out of the pants, passing them to Gemma. Without meeting my gaze, she slings them over her arm. “I’ll take these to the east wing.”
She disappears through the servant’s door, and Marianne tightens the corset around my waist, fingers nimble on the laces. She glances at my thigh. “Do you usually have that on you?”
I trace my fingers over the dagger. “Always.”
She maneuvers around the dress and fastens the buttons. Leaning over my shoulder, she whispers, “Can you teach me how to use it?”
Smiling, I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Of course.”
Thea dusts a layer of powder over my face and pauses. “Can you teach me, too?”
I suck in a breath and bite down on my cheek, fighting the sting behind my eyes. When we were young, we learned together, and our spars frequently spiraled out of control. The pin-sized scar on the top of her shoulder is proof of that. But, of course, she doesn’t remember.
I shove back the memory and say, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Thea and I leave the safety of our room, our heeled shoes tapping against the marble floor. I hold my breath as we approach the great hall doors, and Thea reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“To the ends of the earth,” she whispers, as the guards bow and swing the doors open.
Muted voices and the occasional clink of silverware echo off the vaulted ceilings. My stomach churns, and I lower my eyes to the carpeted runner as I cross into the ballroom.
Conversations halt. A bitter taste floods my mouth, and I swallow, focusing on the way my heels sink into the low carpet. My lungs strain against the corset, unable to inhale a full breath.
A warmth runs down the back of my neck, easing the tension in my shoulders. I blink and lift my gaze.
Kressa’s stare pins me like a moth to a board, and my stomach hollows out. As Harriet, I’ve seen her plenty, protected from her blade only by the competition’s rules. But as Briar, this is our first encounter since she found me with jewels weighing down my pockets.
When I held a blade to her throat.
Her eyes skim down the bodice of my gown and stop at my thigh, where my dagger rests. Her gaze lingers, as if she can see straight through the layers of fabric.
She lifts her glass and tilts it in my direction. Taking a sip, her eyes hold mine as she swallows it down, her throat bobbing. I search her face for what she might want from me or how she knows my name, but she gives nothing away.
My mouth goes dry. She’s trying to get under my skin, like she did to Caelus this morning. But I’ve dealt with my fair share of overconfidence and arrogance. And unlike Caelus, I know the winning blow.
Ignore their existence.
I school my face and dismiss her, focusing on my steps on the runner. Whispers filter through the space, buzzing around me like bloodthirsty mosquitos.
My feet stop at the dais, my dress brushing the first step. I lift my gaze, first to Isolde. Her shoulders stiffen, chest unmoving, but her attention is pinned to the far wall.
Either terrified what is about to happen to me, or livid she didn’t know where I was.
Maybe both.
My chest aches, and I silently beg her to look my way—to give me the barest acknowledgment. She doesn’t.
I swallow the knot in my throat and turn to Caelus. “Your Highness,” I say, dropping into a low curtsy, “I apologize for my tardiness. I felt unwell, and it took me ages to find the healer, but I’m much better now.”
He sits relaxed, ankle propped on his opposite knee as he regards me. “You seem quite sparse lately, courtesan.”
A servant sneaks behind him and sets down two plates of food—one before him, and the other in front of Isolde. They go unnoticed.
I soften my eyes and relax my jaw, camouflaging into the apologetic courtesan and trustworthy spy he favors. “I’m sorry, Your—”
“I don’t want an apology.” He leans forward and clasps his hands on the table, lowering his voice. “What I want, is for you to be where I tell you, when I tell you. You are my courtesan, and I will not be made a fool searching the castle for you, especially as a dinner guest.”
I stiffen at the insinuation, but Isolde doesn’t so much as flinch.
Blinking, I seamlessly smooth my expression with a practiced, easy smile. I’d take his yelling and thrashing windstorms over the smug glint in his eye. “Dinner guest?”
The servant reappears with a chair between his hands, matching the ones Caelus and Isolde occupy. He sets it down, the legs scraping against the floor.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Caelus says.
“I can’t sit there,” I whisper. Not where a guest of distinction would sit. Nobility. A queen.
One who would replace Isolde when her power runs out and she dies.
“It wasn’t a request.” Caelus says.
Isolde’s gaze slides to me, but I can’t decipher her blank stare. Her cheeks, hollowed under this lighting, give nothing away. My hands ache to cup her face and reassure her I’ll let no harm come to her.
In my periphery, Kressa smirks. Her eyes dart to my thigh again, and she raises a brow. A reminder she knows me as the thief—the woman who threatened her, not as the compliant courtesan.
Little does she know, I’m more than that. I’m manipulative. Cunning. Ruthless.
Vengeful.
And if she plans to expose my thievery to Caelus, my word would be far more valuable than hers.
I tip my chin to Caelus. “I’d be honored.”
He holds out a hand, and I accept it as I climb the short set of stairs. I reach the top, and he lifts the back of my palm to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles.
The image of his hand around Thea’s arm flits through my mind, but I force a weak smile. I may not be able to drown him with half a thought, but I can feed his ego—until it’s so full he never expects my hand to be his downfall.
“You look stunning,” he breathes.
I relax my hand and stop myself from digging my nails into his wrist. “As do you, Your Highness.”
A breeze rustles my dress and caresses my face. I lower into the chair, and he pushes it in, taking the spot between Isolde and me.
I stare at my lap, unable to look at her or the crowd and their piercing, assessing eyes.
I’m the heir to the sea. I’m no prize—no ornamental trophy meant to collect dust on a shelf and be gawked at.
Gritting my teeth, I dig for my power and will it into existence, but I come up empty. My hands fist the fabric of my dress.
Caelus unfolds his napkin and spreads it across his lap. Gilded wings adorn the shoulders of his jacket and glitter under the light. Jewels line the feathers, each decoration representative of the lives he’s taken from the sea.
Forks and knives scrape against plates as dinner begins, and I push my food around, my stomach tying into knots.
Something brushes my shoulder, so featherlight I almost missed it, and I sneak a glance out the corner of my eye. Isolde keeps her gaze trained on her plate, but her fingers hang low behind Caelus’s seat. Reaching for me.
I drop my arm to the side of my chair, shifting until our fingertips lace together. My heart slows, growing heavy in my chest, and my throat thickens with the words I want to say but can’t.
But as her thumb drags over the back of my fingers, my pulse calms. My head clears. Her silence says everything I wish I could.
“It’s a bit excessive,” Caelus says.
Isolde drops my hand.
I snatch my fork. “What do you mean?”
Caelus gestures to the table of competitors. “I’m expected to share my castle and feed people competing for a single wish.” He scoffs. “If you think about it, it’s pathetic, really, that they’re all so desperate for something they don’t have.”
I bristle and scan the participants. My—Harriet’s—chair sits empty, but Caelus seems to have forgotten all about the pirate.
Kressa’s whispers to Simon, and that familiar shiver creeps up my neck. As if she senses my stare, she straightens, and a swallow makes its way down her throat.
Caelus leans closer, stealing my attention. “There’s something I need your expertise for.”
“Of course.” I dab my mouth with the napkin, pleased to have something to distract myself with. “What is it?”
“When I bound the competitors to The Gales, I sensed something—another power, perhaps. But it wasn’t like Isolde’s. It was wilder, stronger.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I inhale a small, controlled breath. I hold it until my lungs scream. My chest stings at the memory of his gritty power clawing through me, inspecting me. “But why would someone with power enter the competition? That doesn’t make sense.”
He shrugs. “I can’t pinpoint it, but I think she’s the one hiding something.”
I follow his line of sight, not to Harriet’s chair, but to Kressa’s. A slow smile pulls at my lips, and I rest my chin on my hand. Perhaps my problem found its own solution. “What do you need me to do?”
“I want you to get close to her.”
I blink. “What? No.” I glance at Kressa, and my stomach tumbles. “She’s one of the competitors. What will people think?”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he snarls.
“You have my permission to do whatever it takes to gain her trust, and you’ll relay any information to me.
If she has any power, or any motive for entering, I want to know why she signed up.
If she’s a threat, or commits crimes against the court, I am free to execute her. ”
I consider his words. Kressa doesn’t have power. If she did, she would have used it against me when I attacked her back in the alley. But perhaps I can get close enough to find out why my name was on that list.
“Do you think I can earn her trust that easily?” I ask.
Caelus scoffs. “You’re a good courtesan, and an even better spy. You’ve done it before, to men and women alike. You can do it again.”
I tilt my head and press my tongue into my cheek as I study her. She turns her head to the side, calling attention to the scar disappearing into her hairline.
Discover her secrets, make her a threat, and I’m free of her. One less person to compete with in The Gales. One less person hunting me down.
“What do you say?” Caelus asks, as if I have a choice.
I swirl the wine in my glass and take a sip. It goes down and pools with the revenge waiting to strike like an asp. “Consider it done.”