Chapter 5
MARIETTA
I closed my eyes—absorbing the smell of herbs and letting the warm steam breathe on my cheeks—then lazily opened them in the way of a contented cat. Colors sharpened, from the tomato red hand towels on the kitchen rack to the daffodil yellow of the sunbeams peeking above the trees.
Returned to a world where color and optimism existed, I made a last sweep of my bowl with the rosemary and dill bread I would happily eat every day.
With a full belly and another night’s sleep, my thoughts raced like a well-oiled phaeton instead of the sluggish, rusted hack I’d been.
My temper had improved as well, though Noble seemed determined to push it.
I looked up to see amused eyes watching me scrape every last bite.
When I blinked, the vibrant green shuttered, shadowed and arrogant.
A picture of masculine confidence and virility, perfection leaning atop the deeply scarred table littered with debris.
His long-fingered hand rolled a perfectly formed walnut between his thumb and forefinger.
I pulled the overlapping edge of my robe even tighter, like a vestal virgin eyed by a roving god.
His gaze raked me from my hair to my robe’s sash, making me feel one layer shy of naked. “We are going to Montranc today. You’ll need to wear servants’ garb.”
“Truly?” The room tilted. Kennen.
“As soon as you are dressed. You shouldn’t need help.” His smile turned wolfish, though his eyes remained dark. “But let me know if you need my assistance.”
“That won’t be necessary.” That particular gaze did strange things to me. My skin warmed, a low thrum beat inside me—and my teeth ground together in continued defiance of becoming one of his worshipers.
I didn’t respond to his knowledge of my clothing.
Vivienne had mentioned creating pieces along the same lines before.
No doubt Noble had relieved more than one woman of her clothes in the years that he’d done this type of work.
And he was right—one of the dresses was made up of three separate pieces that connected in the front and on the side, making it so I could dress myself with a few simple spells.
Rosaire must have come to fix the meal and then been dismissed for the day.
I ran upstairs. I was going to see Kennen.
~*~
We walked to the Mount Tranquility House of Correction—better known as Montranc—instead of taking a carriage. Avoiding location tracking charms that were easily affixed to items or vehicles made sense—but I had the feeling he was testing me.
I enjoyed walking, but maintained a neutral expression to keep him guessing. He seemed to always be watching me, tossing an unbroken walnut in perfect timing to his steps. In a game where he held all of the pieces, I had to secure moves where I could.
I shivered as we approached the prison, my magic recoiling at the repelling charms. In the otherwise decent neighborhood of cheerful row houses, the sparse, barred windows hummed with nullification charms. Runes crawled across the stones like iron vines, pulsing with each unsanctioned attempt at magic inside the dismal fortress.
Some kind soul had planted rows of sun-scorching flowers across the street in an entirely vain attempt to lift the mood.
A stocky, bearded man stood stiffly on the sidewalk checking a pocket watch.
Upon seeing us, he turned abruptly and hobbled inside.
Noble followed him, and I followed Noble.
We shadowed the odd man’s path into and through the prison, passing guards and magistrates chatting or moving prisoners.
No one questioned our presence. Because we were moving purposefully, or because the man in front of us was doing something to smooth our path?
Two hallways turned to three and crowds dwindled to smaller groups, then individuals, as wide hallways narrowed to claustrophobic paths. I held my breath as we rounded a final hall to see the odd, sour-faced man with his hooked nose and bushy brows standing alone before a massive iron door.
“You can only be here for this half hour when the guards are on rotation,” he said gruffly, South Basin accent thick. “No one should question your presence, as only someone with a key can enter, but if anyone does, I’ll take care of it. Three turns right, cell in the center.”
“Thank you, Edgar. The fulfillment of your second favor,” Noble replied, his voice smooth and easy. He slowly removed his glove.
“Damn right.” Edgar growled. I blinked at the pugilistic set to the small man’s face. “Bertie’s all over me backside. The sooner the third is over, the better.”
“Poor Bertie. Still sore over the cat incident?” Noble ran a finger over his own wrist. Magic sparked across his bared skin.
Edgar stiffened, then yanked down his workman’s glove. His unmarked wrist seemed unexceptional until two stars burst into view. My breath caught. One of the dark stars faded until it disappeared completely. Only one star remained. Then the remaining star blinked from view. From my view.
It didn’t fade, it didn’t disappear—Edgar was intently staring at the spot still—I just couldn’t see it anymore. Giddiness shook me. The marks were invisible to others—unless they were in a state of change.
I gripped my own wrist. No one would know. I didn’t have to hide my sins.
Edgar’s shoulders loosened and he started muttering. “Never forgive” and “nearly ripped my leg off” surfaced, but the buzzing in my ears and the coiled relief in my gut drowned out the rest.
“Tell Bertie that my neighbor has kittens should she want one.” Noble’s voice and face were filled with barbed amusement.
“Nothing but trouble, you are. Kittens, bah, I’ll eat them,” he said irritably as he unlocked the door and held it ajar.
Noble winked—winked!—at him as he walked through.
I stared dumbly after him for a moment, then recalled myself and turned to Edgar, whose eyes were narrowed, judging.
The prickly fondness that may have been present for Noble was completely absent for me.
His lips thinned as he looked at me like I was something found under a rock. “Trouble. I can already see it.”
“Pardon?”
“Go on now.” He motioned at the open door, his face set in unfriendly lines. “Thirty minutes is all you get. Not a minute more.”
I walked through and he slammed the door and locked it. I blinked. We...were still going to be able to leave, right?
A rhythmic tapping made me turn. “Are you going to tarry there all morning, or shall we go find our prey?” Noble asked with the lift of a perfect brow.
I took a quick step forward, unnerved. “He is not our prey, you horrid man.”
He put a hand over his chest and bowed his head. “Your words warm my cold, brittle heart.” His hand fell to rest at his side, the walnut appearing out of nowhere and once again rolling between his fingers. “Let’s find our prey, princess.”
He took the first turn. I glanced right and left, noticing the cells for the first time—Noble once more having captured my entire attention when he was within the same space, cursed man.
Filthy, ragged hands appeared around the warded bars, followed by ripped sleeves black with dirt. Soulless eyes stared back.
“I’ll be your prey, pretty.” A clawed hand reached through the bars toward me—the bars warded against magic but not flesh. Before I could move, something pinged off the iron and the claw disappeared back inside the dank cell. A walnut rolled into the corner and wobbled to a stop.
I turned, but Noble was nowhere to be seen.
Moving quickly, I was relieved when I turned the corner and could see his back once more.
I concentrated on it as I walked, the edges of his garments brushing as they met in perfect alignment along his shoulders, hips, and legs.
Better to look at the cursed man than to see the monstrous conditions of the cells and inmates—and to think of Kennen’s state.
We took the last turn and I saw my brother. In a solitary cell as dreary and dark as the others we had passed, he was absently picking at the buckle on his shoe, looking miserable.
“Kennen!”
His head shot up and he sprang forward, gripping the warded bars, his ripped shirt falling off one shoulder, making him look even more gangly and lanky.
“Mari!” His fingers clawed at me as I awkwardly embraced him through bars brimming with spells. “Finally! It’s been wretched. I’ve ruined my shoes. My hair’s a mess.”
“I’ve a lump on my head that still smarts. Hit right smack in the back of it!” I tried to say something but words kept falling from his lips, as if he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a week. He gripped me harder. “Tackled in the middle of the street. Thank the spirits you are here. Where’s the key?”
“Key?” I untangled myself from his arms and the bars. “There’s a slight problem, Kennen, with—”
“Yes, I know! They’ve held me here for a week!
The food is wretched and there are rats.
Rats! One stole my bread last night.” He sent a glance toward one corner of his cell and pressed harder against the bars.
“And the Vein Ripper’s somewhere in the prison.
What if he rips me in my sleep? The guards mutter about him all the time.
They’ve even forgotten to feed me meals because of him.
” His stomach rumbled. “Happy they nabbed the bastard, but I can’t say that I agree with them reducing my rations because of it!
What if he gets me? Mari, our veins are already terrible! I need what I have!”
I took a firm look at my brother, who was gasping for air after spewing that all out in one breath. He didn’t seem to be suffering from insanity. “Kennen, you know why you’re here, don’t you?”
He waved a hand. “They think I killed someone. Ha. As if I could stand the blood.” He shuddered. “Knew they’d discover their mistake sooner or later. But it’s been a week! Outrageous. Where’s the key?”