Tightly Wound
Chapter eighteen
Someone was following them. The hairs on Lucianna’s neck prickled with awareness.
In her peripheral vision she noted a flicker of a shadow.
Tall, likely a man. She doubted that Lady Thornsbarrow had sent someone after Cora already, so whoever this was, they were following them for a different reason.
Any man trailing two women in the dead of night through a back alley was not doing so for amiable reasons.
“Walk ahead of me.” She whispered the order to Cora.
“But I don’t know the way,” Cora protested.
“Cora,” Lucianna growled in warning.
The alchemist quickly jumped in front. Lucianna slowly pulled Finnick’s dagger from her belt. He’d proven it was a good throwing weapon, and this way, she wouldn’t dirty one of her own blades.
“Going to kill me with my own dagger?” Her husband’s voice curled around her like candle smoke. “I didn’t realize you could be so cruel, little thief.”
Lucianna gritted her teeth and let out a breath through her nose. She sheathed the dagger once more and turned around. Cora halted ahead of her.
“Why did you not make yourself known? I very well could have killed you,” she said, exasperated.
Lucianna was a thief, not an assassin, but it would not be the first time she had killed a man. She had buried that memory long ago, but it crawled out of the grave on her worst days, forcing her to kill it again and again.
“Mm, I doubt that,” he replied with a smirk as he approached. “And as for not revealing myself, I wanted to test your infamous abilities.”
Lucianna shook her head. Ridiculous, foolhardy man.
Finnick’s gaze shifted behind Lucianna, where Cora stood, shivering. A frown puckered his brow. He removed his coat and held it out to the woman.
“Cora, is it? You should not walk around the city in such a manner. You’re liable to get Tidesick.”
Cora stepped forward and took the coat.
“Thank you. Yes, I’m Cora Thornsbarrow. And you are Finnick?”
Lucianna stared as Cora pushed her arms through the coat, then clutched the quilt to her chest. She thought of Finnick giving her his coat the night he’d found her wandering the castle.
Though she knew he’d only given it to her because she was an asset, him doing the same for another woman inexplicably stung.
“Lord Finnick Valengard,” he introduced with a gallant bow.
Cora coughed as though she choked on something.
“You are royalty?” she exclaimed far too loudly. “Lucianna, you married into the royal family?”
“Quiet,” Lucianna hissed. “Lest you have the entire city descend upon us. We must go. Explanation can be offered later.”
Lucianna turned on her heel and walked in the direction she was headed before Finnick interrupted.
“Has she always been this tightly wound?” Lucianna heard Finnick ask in a whisper. She clenched her hands into fists.
“For as long as I have known her, yes,” Cora replied plainly.
The alchemist was not one for subtlety or holding back. Lucianna usually appreciated that about the woman.
Finnick did not reply, only hummed thoughtfully.
Silence blanketed the trio. Lucianna set her focus on navigating the city unseen.
She ducked into an alleyway that seemed to grow narrower with every click of her boots on the cobblestone.
Buildings slanted harshly and jutted toward one another as Lucianna moved further from Lady Thornsbarrow’s estate in the Lumen district.
Her mind spun as she mulled over what her companions had said.
Tightly wound. She did not understand such a phrase.
It sounded negative, and in context of their situation, Lucianna was unsure of how she could have handled it better.
They did not have time for pleasantries, and they most certainly did not have time to deal with anyone who might have overheard Cora’s outburst. Finnick himself noted that Castien did not appreciate tardiness.
They were on a strict schedule. Was it so bad to be faithful to that?
Aside from her Gift, this tightly wound nature of hers was what made her good at her profession.
When she was in control, everything went smoothly.
It was just the truth. She had no real pride about the matter; in fact, she often felt the weight of the mantle on her shoulders.
Had Finnick listened to her and stayed beneath the window, the entire retrieval process would have gone much smoother.
And there wouldn’t have been the risk of her harming him or worse. He was lucky he spoke up when he did.
They approached the outer gates of the castle. Lucianna tipped her chin up to take in the massive fortress cloaked in shadows. Turrets towered high. The main entrance looked like the gaping maw of a beast in the darkness, the arched windows like a thousand eyes.
Finnick formed a signal with his hands, directing it toward the torchlit guard box just inside the wrought iron gates.
A moment later, the gate creaked open. Lucianna drew in a deep breath of crisp night air as they crossed the castle boundary.
They had accomplished their mission without injury or major complication, no thanks to her husband.
She set her glare upon him. Now that they were safe, she could tell him exactly how he had failed.
“Why did you move from beneath the window?” she demanded as they walked the lengthy path to the castle doors.
Roses bloomed in the moonlight all around them, the scent sweetening the air. It was at odds with the sulfurous anger building in Lucianna’s chest.
“If I wouldn’t have, you would have been caught,” Finnick replied casually.
She despised how little care his tone indicated. His actions undermined her intelligence and expertise, and yet he remained flippant.
“If I were, it would have been because you revealed yourself. Is it so difficult to stay in the shadows? Must you claw for the attention of every human in your vicinity?”
Cora said nothing, merely walked on the opposite side of Lucianna. The woman may lack subtlety, but she had enough common sense to avoid confrontations the likes of these.
“Lady Thornsbarrow was touring her garden. I heard her and knew that if she walked too far, you would be seen.” Finnick’s voice was tight. “There was no way to signal to you without drawing further attention. I did what had to be done to save the mission.”
“You could have waited for her to come across you before seeking her out,” Lucianna countered. “It was an unnecessary risk.”
A risk we cannot afford. Her father’s words echoed through her mind. He would be so disappointed in how the events of the night had gone. Her chest tightened at the thought.
Finnick stopped and turned to her, eyes blazing.
“And suppose she appeared as you were tossing down your bedsheet rope? What then, Lucianna?” He raked a hand through his hair.
“Though you think so highly of my Gift, it cannot manipulate people into ignoring something as startling as that. I did what was necessary to keep you and Cora from being discovered. You simply do not want to admit that I contributed value to this mission.”
Lucianna’s skin felt hot with frustration and anger.
“And trailing us through the city? Was that necessary?”
Finnick tilted his head up to the sky.
“I apologize if I caused fear in either of you—”
“It is you who should be afraid. I was mere seconds away from putting a dagger through your chest!” Her voice rose in volume, and she felt the strain of using her Gift in such an emotive manner.
“Which is why I spoke when I did. Nothing bad occurred tonight. Why can you not accept this success and move on?”
“Just because tonight was not a direct failure, does not mean it is devoid of things to improve upon.”
“Then write up a report and leave it on my desk,” he replied, his tone drenched in sarcasm. “For it is the middle of the night. I am tired, your friend is freezing, and Castien is waiting on us.”
Lucianna glanced at Cora, who was curled in on herself.
“I apologize, Cora. My temper got the best of me. Come, I will loan you some of my things to wear before we meet with the prince.”
Cora’s eyes widened at the word prince.
“I am beginning to think I agreed to something far more intense than I realized at the time,” the alchemist said.
“I know the feeling,” Lucianna muttered as she set off toward the castle again.
She didn’t speak to her husband. Didn’t so much as glance at him.
She worried if she did that she would start up their argument again.
Or worse, admit he was right. Only partially, of course.
He could not defend his approach in the alleyway.
Lucianna knew she should say as much. It would be the mature, polite thing to do.
But Finnick brought out the worst in her. And beyond that . . .
Lucianna despised being wrong.