12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
T he moment Asheros opens my chamber door, the aromas wafting up the staircase reach my nose. My mouth waters. The smell alone is enough to have me tasting whatever it is that Orim’s preparing downstairs.
Mouth agape, I turn to Asheros.
He nods, emphasizing my surprise, and touches the pads of his fingers to his chest. “I wasn’t lying when I told you he’s preparing a feast.”
“After a bite of whatever’s the cause for that heavenly scent,” I say, “I’ll never doubt you again.”
Asheros chuckles, his voice sounding lighter than it did a moment ago. “Careful, now, Bladesinger. I might actually think you tolerate me.”
Cautiously, so as not to loosen my bandages, I shove him and make my way down the staircase. Following my nose, I walk through the doorway opposite to the sitting room, and find myself in a large, but modest, grand dining room. There’s a carved wooden table sitting in the center, with eight padded chairs around it. Savell and Ronan sit on one side, while Kheldryn and Gryska sit across from them.
I peer at the back wall where there’s another open doorway. My nose tells me that’s the source of the mouthwatering smells. I make no move to take a seat, waiting for Asheros to pick his first.
He pulls out the chair next to Kheldryn and sits.
My stomach twists. What do I care if he chooses to sit next to her?
I don’t.
So I pick the chair next to Savell. Directly across from Asheros.
Kheldryn runs a hand through her hair, brushing it back. Silvery-white strands get caught in her eyelashes, and Asheros—damn him—sweeps his fingertips across her forehead to free them.
“Thank you,” she says, lips parted into small smile.
“Of course,” he replies, without hesitation.
Turning my face, I force an exhale through my nose. Savell looks my way when I do. Catching his eyes, I waggle my brows and cover my mouth with a comically exaggerated motion, like I’m jokingly suppressing the urge to vomit.
His serious expression breaks, mouth split into a grin. Ronan laughs with a hand pressed to his abdomen, earning a glare from Asheros.
Those diamond-like eyes slide to me, a brow arched.
“Causing trouble, Bladesinger?” He stretches his leg, so that his foot brushes the back of my lower calf.
I shrug.
Before I can throw back a witty response, Orim emerges from what must be the kitchen with a steaming dish in his hands. He places it on the table in front of us and then returns to the kitchen for another that he sets next to the first.
One dish holds a delectably cheesy concoction of diced potatoes, mushrooms, and leafy greens, and the other, some kind of bird baked in butter and herbs.
Approaching a large glass paneled cabinet behind us, Orim withdraws a stack of dishes and sets them down next to Ronan. Ronan takes three plates, passing them down to Savell and me, while Kheldryn does the same on her side. Savell whirls around to take handfuls of silverware, while Orim adds serving spoons to the dishes. Once the silverware has made its way around the table, Orim gestures to the food.
“Please, help yourselves,” he says, that warmth I’m coming to associate with him present in his tone.
Kheldryn and Savell look to Asheros, who waves his hand as if to say, “ you first . ”
Ronan doesn’t hesitate and starts spooning heaping amounts of potato and mushrooms and meat onto his plate. Savell is next, and then, passing the platters around the table, we start to serve ourselves.
“Where did this come from?” I ask, taking the serving spoon from Savell. “We’ve only just arrived.”
“We had supplies sent before our arrival,” Kheldryn says, watching me spoon food onto my plate.
“Ah, of course,” I muse. When I’m finished, I pass the serving spoon and hot dishes to Asheros.
He holds up his palm. “Kheldryn and Gryska first.”
I swallow and pass the food to Kheldryn. Gryska is next, and then Asheros serves himself last.
“Mmm,” Ronan moans when he takes a bite. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, my friend.”
“I can attest to that,” Savell adds, joining him.
I dip my fork into the potatoes and mushrooms and add a bit of meat before placing it all in my mouth. Flavors melt onto my tongue instantly, and my eyes briefly close.
“This is… Much better than that broth,” I quip, my laughter bringing a smile to my mouth.
“Listen here,” Orim protests, eyes cheerfully alight. He holds up a hand. “There was nothing to be done about the soup given how little ingredients I had to work with.”
I laugh in between bites. My tone shifts to something more serious, but still conversational. “How did you learn to cook? ”
Orim’s cheeks flush a shade of red. “I’ve always been interested in food, and how certain dishes are made.” His mouth parts, and the fondness of his memories shine through. “When I was young, I’d slip into the kitchen and watch the cooks prepare our meals. I found it fascinating. Then, when we dined, I tried to pick apart the flavors and see if I could identify the ingredients.” His eyes dampen a little, with a deflated feeling I know all too well. “My father never really approved of it. Still, I came to love cooking.”
I find his eyes, my expression soft. “I know how you feel.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he replies. The corners of his mouth lift. “All the same, we became our own people, didn’t we?”
Nodding, I offer him a small smile. “We did.”
Across the table, I feel Asheros’s eyes on me. When I turn his way, he quickly averts his gaze, crystalline irises dropping to his plate.
There’s a lull in conversation after that, and my curiosity feels the need to fill it.
“How did you all meet?” Leaning forward, I sweep my gaze around the table. “Are the rest of you from the Silver Court? Or are some of you also from Steel?”
Savell, Ronan, and Kheldryn exchange wary glances, the latter crossing her arms.
This again? Truly?
If I’d made more threats, their unease would make more sense. But I’ve been in their company long enough to think they’d be more comfortable around me. Perhaps the members of Asheros’s inner circle are less trusting than I am.
Gryska, though, doesn’t seem to share her companions’ wariness.
“I hail from the Isles of Therran,” she says gruffly around a mouthful of meat.
My eyes widen. “The Isles of Therran?”
Warm and tropical, the Isles lie far off the Bronze Court’s shore, to the southeast. Judging by her accent alone, I knew Gryska wasn’t from mainland Inatia, but I didn’t think she would be that far from her homeland.
“How did you meet Asheros?” I ask her.
“I was living in Keuron,” she says, flicking her eyes up to me. Without a hint of shame, she adds, “Fighting in underground establishments for coin.”
I nod slowly, maintaining an even expression. Such places are against the law, and the Guard is often called to clear out the area and restore order during the fights. One of my first patrols involved just that. Residents had previously sent in complaints about noise they’d been hearing at night, and Ceren had sent my patrol group to investigate.
We’d arrived at a simple-looking bakery. There were empty shelves waiting to be stocked with fresh bread come morning. Based solely on looks alone, we wouldn’t have stayed for long. The noise is what gave the underground fighting ring away—it led us right to a false door behind the baker’s counter, and the club hidden beneath it.
“And let me guess,” I say, my eyes moving from her to Asheros. I point to him. “He was there, making bets.”
“Right ya are,” Gryska replies, pride rolling from her in waves. “He bet on me that night and left several gold pieces richer.”
“More than several,” Asheros quips, voice light with the fond memory. “At the very least, I won about a hundred gold coins.”
“Then what?” I ask, glancing between the two of them.
“I sought to employ her,” Asheros says, his tone even. “It was a matter of time before someone else realized how much of an asset someone with her unique skillset is.”
Ronan clears his throat. “Like Orim’s parents, my mothers oversee silver production at the Inland Mine, outside of Greyhelm. Since my older sister and her partner are set to take over for them, I didn’t care much to learn about the mine’s operations. Still, I would go with them from time to time while I lived under their roof.”
A toothy grin spreads across his face. “I was young and curious. I wasn’t aware that the Head of House and the heir-apparent were also visiting the mine that day, and Asheros caught me rummaging through crates of raw silver.” He pauses, giving me a sly look. “Observing it, of course.”
“Of course,” I muse tilting my head back. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing with it.”
Still grinning, he continues. “Anyway, Asheros said my secret would be safe with him if I told him my name.”
Shaking his head a little, Asheros chuckles. “I kept my word, didn’t I?”
Laughing, Ronan scrapes the last bit of meat and potatoes off his plate. The light quality of his expression dims somewhat. Softens. “You’ve done more than keep your word.”
Finishing his meal, Asheros waves him off.
After cleaning her own plate, Kheldryn relaxes her arms and lets her hands fall to her lap. “It’s true. You’ve given us a place to belong. For that, none of us will ever be able to repay you.”
A place to belong.
I think of High Keep, the first place I ever felt like I belonged, and Myrdin and Viridian—the males that, while we don’t share blood, became my brothers. The ones who make High Keep a home for me.
Pressing his lips together, Asheros offers a small smile to the others. “You all have done the same for me.” Responding to the humble murmurings sweeping the table, he adds, “Truly.”
My chest thickens, as does my throat, making it harder to swallow my last bite of food. Feeling very out of place, I press my arms to my sides, withdrawing deeper into myself. Despite being at a full table, it is lonely without my two closest friends—perhaps three, now that I’ve met Cryssa. They’re miles away in Keuron, and I’m here, alone, dining with my kidnappers.
“Viridian…” I murmur, low enough that only I can hear.
Gods above.
Maelyrra Pelleveron’s schemes could threaten his position, if they haven’t already. If he and Cryssa don’t act quickly to secure their alliances, they could lose the nobles’ support. Myrdin would be devastated.
I wait for the others to clear their plates and then stand. Orim and Kheldryn collect the dirty dishes and used silverware, carrying them into the kitchen.
Once Asheros is up on his feet, I pull him aside. “I have to warn Viridian,” I tell him, my voice laced with urgency. “Send a letter, or a messenger—send something. I don’t care what. He has to know about the Gold Court’s plot against him.”
Asheros cocks his head, knitting his brows. “He may know by now.”
He’s right. Viridian may be aware of Maelyrra’s strategizing. I know that. Still, it does little to dispel the anxiety clutching my stomach. Because it’s just as likely that Viridian doesn’t know. Surrounded by the Kjos Mountains, which provide natural barriers in and out of Keuron, the city is often insulated from news of the Courts.
If Viridian learns of Maelyrra’s moves against him too late, he may be unable to retaliate. And if war truly is coming, then he and Cryssa could lose so much more than the throne—they could lose their lives.
“I’m not willing to take chances.” Sensing Asheros’s apprehension, I take a small step forward. “If it were one of them in his place,” I say, pointing to the dining table where the members of his inner circle had sat moments ago, “and you in mine, you would seek to do the same.”
Only a few paces behind us, Savell’s shoulders tense and his eyes narrow, dark with distrust. I don’t know how much he’s heard, but his demeanor makes it painfully obvious that he doesn’t like however much of our conversation he did happen to overhear.
Asheros exhales, casually placing his hands on his hips. I can’t help but notice how his arms flex slightly with the movement, and how it makes his hips seem even more defined. “You’re right.”
“You can’t seriously be considering this,” Savell interjects, approaching Asheros. “She’ll use this as an opportunity to betray us.”
Mouth tightening, Asheros glances at him. “I’m highly aware of that possibility, but something tells me there’s no reason to worry.” He pauses, pursing his lips as if he’s mulling over an unfamiliar taste. Looking at me, he asks, “Must we do this now, or can it wait until morning?”
“It can wait,” I say, though I would feel much better getting it over with tonight.
As if to protest, Savell opens his mouth.
Asheros cuts him off. “Good,” he says, rubbing his palms together. “Then we’ll handle this matter in the morning.”