Chapter 16
ACKER
Wells stands in the center of his courtyard. “Don’t try to stop me.”
The threat of violence is unspoken, but heard nonetheless.
“I’m not,” I assure him.
The fires that constantly burn in the hearths have been smothered within the last hour, evidenced by the smoke billowing from their mouths and the faint heat lingering in the kilns.
He’s cleaned up, skin clear of soot for the first time in seemingly years.
The lack of a collar around his throat is the most telling.
His escape has obviously been planned for a while.
“Good,” he says, shouldering past me. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I have a boat to catch.”
There isn’t time to dwell on the familiar sting of betrayal, so I speak up before he can leave. “I’m going to Maile and I want you and Olivia to come with me,” I say.
He stops in place, head turning to the side so he can look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why?”
“I’m going to ask Evelyn to help me overthrow my father.”
This gets his full attention.
Pivoting sharply, he faces me head on. “What’s happened?”
“My father and Wren are working together.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “There’s no way his council would just accept that.”
I take a deep breath, then step closer and say, “They would if he promised to give them magic in return.”
Shock renders him speechless, jaw hanging open as he tries to make sense of what I just told him. “I—how … what?”
“I’ll tell you everything I know in the carriage. It’s waiting in the street, but we need to hurry to pick up Olivia if we want to get to our boat before my father realizes I’m gone.”
His clear suspicion drives the proverbial knife in deeper, but he knows me well enough to know I’d never abandon my post or my people for my own safety. I especially wouldn’t risk Olivia’s either. After a long, tense moment, his shoulders drop.
“Okay,” he concedes, eyes losing some of their heat. “Let’s go.”
Harold holds the door open as we step out of the courtyard.
It’s after midnight and the streets are barren.
I slide inside the carriage first and I realize my mistake a moment too late.
Wells stills at the sight of my wife, Irina, sitting beside me in the small space.
Any progress we made in the past few minutes is immediately undone, and Wells face hardens.
Irina lifts a challenging brow in his direction.
I slap a hand against the door to stop it from swinging shut when he takes a step back. “We need her. We won’t stand a chance of getting to Maile alive on a Kenta ship without an illusionist.”
His expression is accusatory. “You didn’t send word to Maile first?”
“And risk the chance of my father finding out?” I shake my head. “Listen, we can send a bird when we reach your family.” This seems to appease him some but not by much, and I’m starting to lose my patience. “Wells…”
With a shake of his head, he gives in, sliding onto the bench opposite us. Harold shuts the door, and we’re instantly encased in darkness. We ride through the city streets in stunted silence.
It doesn’t take long for the sound of the carriage’s wheels turning over stone to change to pavement before becoming muffled by the softer ground of dirt as we leave the city.
Only then do I reach for the lamp by my feet and pass it to Wells.
With a snap of his fingers, the wick erupts with light and he hangs it on its designated hook by the door.
“I suppose we were bound to meet at some point,” Wells directs this toward Irina. “I’m Wells.”
“I know who you are.” Her answering smile is polite, but there’s no mistaking the calculated look in her eyes. “I’m glad to finally be able to thank you in person for our incredible wedding gift.”
Tension radiates between the two of them at the mention of the pointed present Wells and Olivia gifted us.
A dagger Wells made himself. I could tell by its craftsmanship.
That alone would have been a nice gift, but it was the images inscribed inside the lid of the wooden box it was delivered in that was the real insult.
Butterflies painted in varying shades of purple—Maile’s colors.
Irina’s expression had soured in front of the congregation when it was opened, face turning a blistering red.
It was an obvious mockery of our nuptials considering that Wells and Olivia refused to attend our wedding.
My father was equally as livid as my new wife, but even he knew it would be stupid to hang our best blacksmith ahead of an impending war.
Wells doesn’t look the least bit repentant. He doesn’t apologize either, instead turning his attention away from her entirely. Silence envelopes the compartment, and, after a while, Irina get comfortable enough to fall asleep.
Thank the gods.
Wells observes the way she’s curled into my side, head resting on my shoulder. “She’s going to kill you, you know.”
I don’t need any clarification as to who he means, and I don’t dispute the possibility. The thought has crossed my mind plenty since I made the decision to travel to Maile. Jovie’s wrath might very well be my demise.
But I guess we’re about to find out.