Chapter 25
OUT
IMOGEN LED HIM TO THE fringes of Asteros, away from the main city center and business district buzzing with activity. She didn’t want commotion. She wanted quiet. Somewhere she could sit and process what she’d just seen.
Lieutenant Gore followed dutifully, keeping near to Imogen’s side and glaring at anyone who passed too closely.
“If you keep making that face, Lieutenant, it may get stuck,” she apprised, glancing sidelong at him.
“I am not familiar with this area, Elder,” he said, restless gaze roving the emptying streets. “Your safety is my priority.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she replied. “But I grew up near here. Trust me, the poor have more pressing concerns. Accosting an elder and a soldier of the crown is decidedly low on the agenda.”
Imogen passed a familiar street lined with a row of dilapidated adobe structures.
The roads here were packed earth, a stark contrast to the manicured cobblestones in the wealthier sections of Asteros.
If she followed this path, she’d find a small red house with a cracked tile roof and a single square window occupying the far corner lot.
Her childhood home.
She hadn’t been back in a small eternity. The years spent in that house while her father was alive felt like they belonged to someone else’s past.
The image her memory conjured was a joyful one, a bubble of happiness in the harsh reality of the world. Her father had provided the kind of love and stability that every child needs but doesn’t realize they’ll crave until they’re old enough to reflect on how it was taken too soon.
If she were to see it now? What the house had become since leaving? That happy memory would burst. Now, it was just four walls at the end of a dirt road sheltering someone else.
Imogen didn’t turn down that street. Instead, she continued past for another quarter of a mile until they reached an unnamed pub nestled between an overgrown corral with rusted fencing and a cobbler’s shop.
Prestyn Gore eyed the building’s deteriorating facade with a dubious expression. “This is where you want to go for a drink?”
“What, a nameless, back-alley pub is beneath your standards?”
“I can think of several alternatives,” he began.
“Never been to the blighted underbelly of Asteros, have you?” When he didn’t answer, Imogen tilted her head up at him. “I didn’t take you for the discriminatory type, Lieutenant.”
He flushed slightly, gripping the worn iron ring that served as a door handle, and yanked it forward on screeching hinges.
Imogen stepped inside and welcomed the nostalgic scent of ale casks and cigar smoke as it washed over her.
The pub was empty as she’d expected. The regular crowd of locals wouldn’t be in for hours yet.
Not until their work in the city was finally finished for the day.
She sidled up to the bar and slid onto a stool.
Lieutenant Gore stood stiffly next to her.
The barkeep, Ross, took her order and pushed an unmarked bottle toward her with two dingy, squat glasses. She filled one and tossed back the clear liquor, relishing the way it carved a fiery path through the tightness in her chest.
Imogen lifted the glass in the stalwart Lieutenant’s direction. “Want one?”
Her guard kept his eyes fixed ahead. “I don’t believe that would be appropriate, Elder Imogen.”
She returned her attention to the liquor bottle with a shrug. “Propriety’s grown a little heavy of late, don’t you think, Prestyn?”
“Even so,” he replied, standing a little taller, “it’s my duty to guard you.”
Imogen huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m sick to death of duty, Lieutenant. We spend our lives beholden to the wills of our superiors, and for what?”
“Honor, Elder.”
Imogen knocked back a second swallow. “Honor,” she echoed, quietly. “Gods, you’re so young.”
He didn’t respond.
“Tell me, Lieutenant, how much honor does a dog possess when it serves a master who kicks him and calls it attention?”
Prestyn turned his head to study her, and Imogen met his scrutiny with a raised brow.
She lifted the glass once more, wiggling it enticingly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He opened his mouth to reply when the front door wailed, and a man stepped inside.
Lieutenant Gore’s hand flew to the sword sheathed at his hip. The man who entered strode purposefully forward and stopped before the guard. To Imogen’s great surprise, Prestyn lowered his head in respect.
She studied the man. He couldn’t have been much older than she.
He had rich brown skin, wide, pleasant features, a lean frame, expertly tailored clothing, and impeccable posture.
And there, affixed to the breast of his peanut-hued vest, was the king’s crest. She straightened, alarm shooting down her spine.
What the fuck is a king’s agent doing here?
“Second Lieutenant Gore, is it?” the man asked in a voice as smooth and crisp as his freshly starched shirt.
Prestyn’s gaze stayed low. “It is, Attendant Creed.”
Attendant?
“Very good, Lieutenant. I would speak with the elder. Please wait outside and ensure we are not disturbed.”
Prestyn Gore flicked the briefest glance in Imogen’s direction before marching toward the pub’s exit. She watched as he disappeared through the front door, which sealed behind him, hinges squealing in protest at the recent overuse.
The king’s attendant threw the bolt, locking them inside.
Imogen fisted the neck of the liquor bottle and shot to her feet.
The attendant’s eyes widened at her defensive posture. He raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Please, Elder, I mean you no harm.”
When he seemed confident that she wouldn’t bash him over the head with the bottle, he hurried past her and disappeared through the kitchen door behind the bar.
What in the divine kingdoms was going on?
Attendant Creed was gone for no more than three minutes before returning. He wasn’t alone.
“Mender Alcuin?” Imogen blurted. The liquor she’d consumed became a pleasant hum in her brain. Maybe coming to get a drink hadn’t been the best idea after all.
“Hello, dear,” the mender said, clasping her hands briefly. “Please, sit. We haven’t much time.”
Imogen eyed the door behind the bar. “What’d you do with Ross?”
“The barkeep has been well compensated for his discretion,” said the king’s attendant. “And the dutiful Second Lieutenant will assure we aren’t overheard.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Mender Alcuin placed a hand on the attendant’s arm. “This, my dear elder, is Cinah Creed.”
Imogen steadied herself with a hand on the counter.
She suddenly needed another shot. “King Domitan’s favored attendant?
” She’d heard rumors of the men who maintained the king’s favor.
They didn’t tend to last long. Word was that Cinah Creed had held the position far longer than any of his predecessors. Why, she did not know. And he was here?
Cinah nodded his head. Imogen noticed a tightness to his brow at his introduction.
“What do you want with me?” she asked, finally relinquishing the bottle to the bar top.
Cinah Creed’s posture relaxed, but only just. “The mender and I met through a shared acquaintance. He asked me to come.”
“He is an ally, my dear. A most unexpected, most welcome ally,” Mender Alcuin assured. “He has news of the Prima.”
Imogen forced herself to sit and fisted the sides of the barstool to keep from grabbing the attendant’s shirtfront. “What news? Where is she?”
“I believe she was taken out of the city.”
Imogen looked between the two men. “But why? By whom?”
Mender Alcuin spoke. “The why, I can understand. But I should also like to know who.”
Cinah sighed. Weary was not a strong enough word to describe the man’s appearance. He looked bone-tired in a way that Imogen could empathize with.
“Despite the good mender’s insistence, I will not disclose my associate’s identity. I can only assure you he will not harm her,” Cinah said.
Alcuin’s lips stretched into a thin line.
“But why was she taken?” Imogen pressed. “And how?”
Cinah regarded her. “It was a mistake. We thought she was a Fate. One we intended to rescue. King Domitan found the remnants of a Fate’s cloak in the barn that burned in the eastern district. I believe the Prima was wearing it when she was taken.”
Imogen froze. Holy gods. Her cloak. Impossible…She turned to Mender Alcuin. “I was at Light House visiting my mother the night Felíne disappeared. When I returned to the royal villa, the king and queen told me she’d been escorted to my rooms while I was away. My cloak was missing.”
Cinah’s brow pinched. “She took it?”
“But why? How would she have gotten into my room?” Imogen produced her key, which she still kept on her person at all times. “I always lock my door.”
Mender Alcuin pulled up a stool and massaged his temple. “Oh dear,” he said, lines of concern etched into his well-wrinkled face. “I believe that is my fault.”
Imogen listened as the mender explained the universal key he’d gifted the Prima years ago. Her heart sank.
“Where did you come across such a thing?” Cinah asked.
The mender sighed. “I am very old and have traveled very far. I’ve collected a great many things of value.”
“And you trusted this priceless treasure to a young girl?”
“Never mind the key,” Imogen interjected. “Where is Felíne?”
Cinah rubbed the back of his neck, a strangely casual gesture that seemed incongruous with the man’s initial decorum. “It doesn’t matter. She is beyond our immediate reach.”
Imogen shot incredulous eyes at the mender before returning her accusatory glare to Cinah. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course it does. It’s all that matters. Her presentation is just over a month away!”
“Tell me, Cinah,” Mender Alcuin insisted. “Tell me where she has been taken, and I will retrieve her myself.”
“Even if you managed to find them, you’d be hard-pressed to extract her. If my associate does not yet know her true identity, he soon will. He has already slain the king’s most proficient hunters. Domitan’s prime huntress returned to the city barely alive.”
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “So, Felíne is in danger.”
“Not from him,” Cinah assured. “But I cannot speak for others. He’s taking her to Meress. Or, at least, that was the plan for the Fate. I cannot say how those intentions might shift if he realizes he’s got the Prima in his clutches instead.”
He was taking her to the Cozened refuge? “Are you mad? We can’t do nothing,” Imogen argued. “Someone has to help her!”
“I sent a trusted friend to warn him. I can only hope they arrive in time to prevent any unfavorable developments.”
Imogen balked. Unfavorable developments?
The king’s favored attendant was being rather cavalier about the fate of the shurii race.
Her friend was gods knew where with gods knew whom, surely terrified, or worse.
“That’s not good enough,” she said. “The Prima is alone, in danger, and most certainly fearing for her life. Someone needs to go and get her.”
Cinah nodded. “I don’t disagree with you. You may think my level of concern to be negligible, but I assure you, I believe in her purpose to the people as much as anyone. However, I don’t think the best option is to return her to the capital.”
“But her presentation to—”
Mender Alcuin silenced Imogen with a warm hand on her forearm. “In this he is right, dear. King Domitan is prepping for a war. It may not be best to return Felíne to Asteros.”
Imogen had a hard time following. “Of course, he’s prepping for war. The Prima has been stolen!”
Cinah shook his head. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Domitan won’t be satisfied with her safe return. He’s taken this as a personal affront, a challenge to his rule. He’ll use it as an excuse to send his army outside Asteros and destroy anyone who dares oppose him.”
Imogen raised a brow. “He’s been trying to kill off the Cozened for years. That’s nothing new.”
Alcuin spoke. “Dear, there are far more than just the Cozened who oppose the Crown of Asteros. Thousands of innocents across Ilistaar will be in danger if the king mobilizes his army.”
Imogen was suddenly very weary, and the pleasant hum of her buzz had turned to a grating whine.
“If you don’t intend to retrieve Felíne, then what is your plan?
King Domitan’s military ambitions aside, if the Prima doesn’t return, the entire race is doomed anyway. You can’t just leave her out there.”
Cinah opened his mouth to reply, but Alcuin beat him to it.
“We plan to take the Primordial Male to her.”
Imogen gaped. The mender’s words physically jarred her.
Cinah grimaced. “Alcuin, it’s a grand scheme in theory, but we still need to find him. This could take months. Time we don’t have.”
“You’re better poised than most to make inquiries.”
“Inquiries that could very well get me killed. Domitan is exceedingly territorial. If he suspected—”
“He won’t suspect,” Mender Alcuin argued. “You’ll be careful, Creed.”
Cinah let out an exasperated sigh. “Scheming to get a Fate out of Asteros nearly got me killed, and we can see how well that went. Believe me, I’ve got the scars to prove it. And I was very careful. Trying to locate—”
“I know where he is,” Imogen breathed.
“It’s not a matter of trying, Cinah, it simply must be done. Find a way.”
“We should be focused on warning our allies, bolstering defenses in Meress and the neighboring cities,” Cinah countered. “I understand the concern for future generations, but it won’t matter if this generation is decimated by a tyrant king.”
Imogen cleared her throat and repeated herself. Both men slowly turned to look at her as though she’d just confessed that she was the Goddess reincarnate.
She glanced between them. “I know where the Primordial Male is.”
Alcuin’s eyes twinkled. Cinah’s breath left him in a whoosh.
Imogen’s stomach roiled with a giddy burst of bubbles.
Suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about Felíne’s presentation or even the ramifications of what she considered.
She was only thinking about Karrick: shackled in a dark cell, locked in a guarded room, withered down to half the male he should have been by years of abuse and neglect.
If anyone deserved a bid at freedom, it was Karrick.
“I can get to him,” she said, determination steeling her voice. “Help me get him out.”