Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
HORNHALL
K atarra could tell by the annoyed breathing who was in the room before she even opened her eyes. She debated pretending to be dead.
“I know you’re awake. Stop being dramatic,” the commander grumbled.
Katarra ignored him. Let the asshole sit there another hour.
Something landed on her stomach. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention. Its cool reptilian feet stomped up her chest.
She cracked an eyelid. The tiny beast, so close she couldn’t focus on it, blinked its large round eyes twice. Then it belched in her face.
“You fed him liver.” She turned her head, hoping to escape the smell. “I hate liver.”
“I had to feed him something,” Archer said. “The little shit wouldn’t let anyone enter after I brought you here.”
Katarra opened both eyes. “ You brought me here?”
The commander leaned back in the chair he was occupying. “Does it matter? ”
“No.” She tried to sit up. The room spun. She laid back into the pillows. “What was it laced with? The dagger.”
“That’s the interesting part.”
She pushed up onto her elbows. “Explain.”
“It was coated in cold-iron, deadly to us fae in large quantities. The amount you would have ingested was just enough to impair you. So your opponent could get the upper hand.” He crossed his legs at the ankles. “The interesting aspect is what else was on that dagger.” The commander watched her closely, his eyes never straying from hers, even as Legion marched down her body and attacked her toes.
“Your storytelling is unparalleled.” She rotated her ankle, tumbling the wyvern.
Legion leapt back onto her feet, his assault fully on. Archer continued, “There were also traces of ashwood.”
She looked him in the eyes. “Not a poison to the fae, I’m guessing.”
“Not even if we bathed in it.”
“Someone suspects a vampire.”
“No, Champion Talon. They know a vampire is here.” The commander uncrossed his legs. “The only suspicion is that it is you.”
He stood, sweeping his gaze down her body as he did so, bringing to her attention the fact someone had taken the time to change her out of her muddy fighting clothes. “Wherever you’re finding your unlucky dinner guest…” Those unique silver eyes again met hers. He warned, “Be more careful.”
Katarra grinned up at him. “I distinctly remember telling you we should keep my diet in house.” Her gaze drifted to the vein pumping in his tan wrist. “Sure you don’t want to be on the menu, Commander?”
“I assure you, I don’t,” Archer turned for the door. She didn’t miss the amusement in his voice, though. A far different reaction from the first time she suggested feeding from him. “By the way,” he added, “Your nephew is here.”
Katarra sat up fully. “What! When? ”
“Yesterday.”
Yesterday? The commander had conveniently left that out during their conversation last night. Bastard.
She canted her head. “Which nephew?”
He looked back at her. “The easiest to kill.”
Windsong
T he pungent smell of stale ale, unwashed bodies, and burnt pheasant assaulted Sage’s nose the moment she stepped inside the village tavern.
If the stink wasn’t enough to make most turn away–the large, loud, severely out-of-tune gypsy leading the patrons in song would. Roland.
Sage’s gaze cut to the shadowy figure in the corner, long legs propped up on a tabletop as he looked on. Wilkes.
Roland raised a mug in her direction and launched into the chorus. Sage rolled her eyes and made her way through the throng, to the table Wilkes occupied. “I suppose it would have been too much to ask for you to bring him here sober?”
“You don’t pay me enough to separate that male from his liquor,” Wilkes replied evenly.
“I don’t pay you at all.” She took a seat across from her oldest friend.
He looked her over, from her worn-in boots to her hair tied back in the braid she favored. “You’ve gained weight.”
She cracked a smile. “Are you jealous?”
“Maybe.” His teeth flashed white in the dim light. “It looks good on you.”
“One of the few perks of castle living; meals I don’t have to hunt myself.”
Wilkes’s smile faded. “One day. ”
Putting her hand around a mug, she leaned in, moving the conversation to what was important right here and right now. “What’s the mood in the Arrows?”
“Dire.” The previous frivolity that softened his features was gone. “Hornhall executed a boy for sport the other day. The number of soldiers patrolling both kingdoms has doubled in the last week. They are wreaking havoc, taking in anyone they suspect. Not even the villagers are safe.” His eyes grew darker, harder, with each passing word. “But it is their newest tactic that has me most concerned. Poison has been fed to the deer along the northern border. Eight fae have died from ingesting the meat.”
Sage’s heart sank. It was worse than she had feared. And here she sat, useless. Playing pretend. Getting nowhere.
“I should be out there.” She lowered her voice, “With you.”
The merry tune ended, and with it, the rebuttal Wilkes was about to make.
They both schooled their faces as Roland disengaged from his audience and made his way to their table. “Happy evening, my–”
“Sit,” Wilkes ordered.
Roland gave Sage a toothy smile–what nine he had left–and took the chair beside her, reaching for the pitcher in the center as he did.
Wilkes pushed the pitcher out of reach. “After the conversation.”
“I don’t have a lot of time,” Sage explained, pulling a sketch from her pocket. “I need to know who’s painting these across the Arrows.” She placed the paper in front of him.
Roland squinted. “My eyes aren’t exactly what they use to…”
Wilkes tossed a coin purse on the table.
“Why, yes. Must have been the lighting.” Roland looked closer at the diagram. “I have seen these about. I am not sure where though…”
Wilkes pulled back his jacket, enough to show another purse poking out of one of the inside pockets. “It’s yours if you tell us everything you know.”
“You can’t blame an old gypsy for trying to make a living wage.” Roland shrugged .
“My life isn't getting any longer.” Wilkes stared deadpan from across the table. “But my memory is.”
Sage put a hand on Roland’s and coaxed his eyes up. “Any help will be appreciated.”
He gave her a simpering grin and proceeded to tell them everything. Spade’s group was responsible for most of the diagrams. Why? He wasn’t sure. But the rogue rebel clan had taken to the catacombs beneath Hornhall, all but abandoning their mountain caves.
When he was done, Wilkes tossed him the second bag and dismissed the gypsy with a jerk of his chin. Roland inclined his head, plucked the pitcher of ale from the table, and staggered away, beginning a new song–something about a mermaid, a troll, and an evil king.
Sage leaned back in her chair. “It doesn’t add up,” she said, more to herself than Wilkes. “What would Spade stand to gain by painting a target on rebel backs?”
“I don’t think she intends for her group to be the target at all,” Wilkes said. “She’s wanted this total separation for decades now.”
Sage met her friend’s gaze. “You think she’d rat out her own people?”
Wilkes sat up in his chair, bracing his arms on the wooden table. “That female is as bloodthirsty as they come. I think she would align with anyone if they served her purposes.”
Sage shifted thoughtfully. Spade’s group had long ago separated from the other rebels. Over time they had grown more and more dangerous. Half the innocents housed in Windsong and Hornhall dungeons were there because of the reputation Spade had fostered with her nefarious deeds. Attacks to the ruling class could be traced back to her group. Sage had cautioned her many times. Still, the female did as she pleased. But would she go this far? Would she break with the oath she had taken?
The tavern door swung open, admitting a group of Windsong soldiers .
Sage turned her head, letting the hood of her cloak slip over her face. “Are you getting rid of the markings?” She raised a mug to her mouth.
“As many as we can find,” Wilkes confirmed. “Lark, Amira, and Kier are scouring the southern border as we speak.”
Voices joined the tavern singalong. Sage dared a glance to make sure all the soldiers had settled. Sure enough, Roland was at their table, pitcher of ale lifted high as he belted out Windsong’s anthem.
“Once a week updates will no longer suffice.” She placed her mug on the table and started to her feet. “Meet me at the shore in two nights.”
Wilkes grabbed her wrist. “How did the tournament go?”
She knew he didn’t mean the dance competition. Today should have been the start of the High-fae tourney. He wasn’t inquiring if she had won or lost. He was asking if she had been able to remain undetected. If she had been able to keep her magic concealed.
Sage leaned across the table. As if she were nothing more than a patron giving her beau a farewell kiss on the cheek, she whispered, “After the fiasco last night, it was postponed until the morning.”
“Be smart,” he warned.
She straightened and winked. “Have a little faith.”
“I do.” He let go of her.
Head down, making herself appear small and insignificant, Sage exited the tavern. She rounded the corner and waited until two drunks ambled past the alley, then she dropped down into the sewers.
She retrieved her gown from behind the rock where she had stashed it, and hurriedly undressed. Her skin prickled in the chilly air as she fumbled with the many layers of chiffon, trying to determine where to step into the damned garment. It was no wonder court ladies had assistants for such tasked.
“Blasted dress!”
She shoved her foot into what she hoped was the opening. The material ripped somewhere, but she managed to navigate the damned thing up and over her hips. Fitting the bodice to her chest, she reached behind blindly to feel for the buttons on the back.
Someone’s hand was already there!
L ady Kerrington whirled, knife angled right for his heart. Bastian stopped it a mere inch from piercing his jacket pocket.
“What are you doing?” she seethed, eyes blazing.
“Attempting to help you with your dress.” He couldn’t help the smile. “You seemed to be…struggling.”
She pushed him away, sheathing the blade as effortlessly as she had wielded it. “What are you doing down here?”
“What are you doing down here?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I asked you first.”
Bastian placed both hands in his pants pockets. “I wanted to see where this passage went.” He waited.
“Same.”
He cocked his head. “Yes, I see that now. I hid my ball gown behind a rock, too.”
“Insufferable male.” She again went about trying to get her dress fastened, but stopped when he didn’t look away. “Go on then–find your ball gown.”
“Do you need some help?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He stepped up to her. “Turn around.”
She stared at him. In that moment, he knew two things to be true. One, Sage Kerrington was going to get him in a world of trouble. Two, he was going to enjoy every moment of it.
He lifted a finger and twirled it. She contemplated him a moment longer before turning in place. Bastian eased up behind her and began his task, taking longer than was needed.
Her ribcage expanded on a huff. “Gods, you’re slow. ”
He leaned in, so close he could feel the heat off her skin. “I’m thorough.”
She stilled, and her scent changed, the blood in that delicate vein just below her ear thumping harder. His fangs elongated. He hadn’t fed from another in over a year. He hadn’t fed for sheer pleasure in what felt like a lifetime. Now here he was, dressing a female in a sewer, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into her soft…
His swallow was loud in his ears as he fastened the last button and took a long step back. “You’re good to go. Carry on with whatever deception you’re up to.”
She turned to face him. “I told you why I was here. The only deception lies in not wanting my benefactor to know of my curious nature.”
“Curious nature?”
“Is that an oddity where you’re from?”
“No, but the females of other realms don’t need to hide it. So I dare say, it’s curious here .”
“Well, then.” She stuffed her discarded clothes into a sack and unplaited her long hair. “Just pretend you are back home.”
She transformed back into the lady he’d met as Sage Kerrington. The dress and flowing locks did nothing to mask the honed weapon he now knew her to be. Her power was evident everywhere–from the set to her jaw, the stillness of her movements, how she observed a space, to the speed with which she had drawn that blade.
“What if I don’t,” he said, “…pretend.” She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “What if, instead, you tell me why you were meeting with those males in the tavern.”
He was aware of her hands’ proximity to both knives; the one she had already pulled on him, and the one strapped to her thigh. He secretly hoped she would choose the latter.
Sage held his gaze. A heartbeat passed. Then another. “Why would I do that?”
“Because we both have curiosities to hide,” he said. “As a guest in this realm, I should not be sneaking around abandoned tunnels, either. You have something on me.” A shrug. “I have something on you.”
She slung the sack over her shoulder and moved to march past him. “Then we’re even.”
“Are we?” She hesitated a step. He said, “Yes, we are both in a sewer, led here by passageways we should know nothing of. But you were half-naked when I stumbled upon you.” Bastian looked down at her. “I dare say, your benefactor would disapprove. Considering you’re supposed to be wooing the prince.” He smirked. “The fae one.”
Her cool, unruffled voice sounded far, far away as she said, “What do you want to know?”
“Who was the male in the tavern? Not the gypsy. Don’t say a friend.”
Looking him dead in the eyes, without a trace of hesitation, she answered, “A lover.”
A shred of truth in every lie . He knew it well. In a world full of supernaturals, lies were dangerous things. You either had to be the better bluffer, or you had to outlive the one you were dishonest with.
He stepped aside. “Is he a jealous male?”
“Extraordinarily.”
“Then never let him know I helped you dress. That my fingers touched your skin.” He smiled slowly. “That you enjoyed it.”
She gave him a look that suggested he’d better hire someone to start testing his meals for poison. But she said nothing. Just spun on her heels and stomped off into the dark–as confident down here in the underbelly of the city, as she was courting royalty on the polished dancefloors of the castle high above.