Chapter 7
Cole
A steady hand wavers when beauty walks by.
Cole could never help but pen lyrics in his head when it came to Mistel Wepp.
After sword fighting practice the next morning, she invited herself into their tent, humming “I Don’t Belong Here,” one of his favorite songs that she had written.
She settled onto Kurtz’s bedroll, removed her farmer’s hat, and let her orange curls fall loose.
Even when humming, her perfect pitch rang clear, and the beautiful, haunting melody soothed him.
He missed moments like these with her. He still couldn’t believe she was here—that she’d kissed him, or tried to, at least. No denying he would have enjoyed that a great deal.
Hiding his feelings for her would not be easy.
Yet he could find no reason to refuse a visit from his cousin, and so he’d let her stay.
For now.
She wouldn’t be here long. Kurtz had gone to fetch Jol Quimby, the lone member of the Marad amongst the Five Hundred.
The three of them had plans to discuss the mission, and since Prince Oren had not yet given permission for Mistel to know all their Marad business, once Kurtz and Jol returned, Mistel would have to go.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Lantern light flickered off Cole’s short sword as he scrubbed it with a tallow-soaked cloth, then dipped the rag into the jar for more. “Oiling the blade to keep it from rusting in all this snow,” he said.
“Did you practice swordplay again this morning, my knightling?”
He glanced at her, amused by the little name she’d given him, liking it more than he should. “I’m surprised you didn’t come watch.” He was grateful too.
“I cannot wake as early as you.” Mistel stretched out her legs and sighed. “Oh, this is nice. I didn’t think to bring a tent. Or a bedroll.”
Concern for her swelled in his chest. “Mistel…Where have you been sleeping?”
“Mostly under trees.”
That would never do. “I’m sure I can scrounge up a spare tent.”
“That would be fantastic.”
“What about food?”
“Oh, I ran out days ago, but now that I’m here, I’ve been able to eat with the soldiers.”
That she would take such risks to her safety frustrated him to no end. “If you ever have trouble, come find me at once. Or Kurtz.”
Mistel dabbed her finger in the tallow, smelled it and frowned. “Your brow is wrinkly. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Now. But she was lucky to be alive. “It’s been a long morning. Before we leave today, we’re meeting with—”
The tent flap pulled aside, sending a shaft of morning light inside. Kurtz froze, partway in. “This is how you lay low? Put that hair away.”
Mistel let out a soft huff through her nose and brushed a lock of her ginger curls over her shoulder. “I’m being careful.”
Kurtz grunted. “I doubt that. Normally, I’m all about fun and games, I am, but the king entrusted me with both of your safety, which means you”—he pointed at Mistel—“get out.”
“It’s too early,” she said. “Where would you have me go?”
“Wherever you slept last night,” Kurtz said.
Mistel’s bottom lip protruded. “On the ground under a wagon.”
“Perfect,” Kurtz said. “Lots of ground outside.”
“I didn’t think about how cold it would be when I packed for the trip,” Mistel said.
“You didn’t think much,” Kurtz said.
Cole pushed the tallow along the blade again. “I’ll scrounge up a tent for her.”
“For tonight,” Kurtz said. “Right now, I’ve got Quimby outside, I do, and we need to talk. In private.”
Cole put the lid on the tallow and started to clean up. He was eager to get Jol’s take on their mission.
“Can’t I stay?” Mistel asked. “I want to know what’s going to happen.”
“We’ll tell you what you need to know,” Kurtz said.
“Fine.” Mistel tied her hair back into a knot, shoved on her hat, and slipped outside. “Good morning,” Cole heard her say in an amusingly low voice.
“Morning,” came a ridiculously gravelly reply.
The door flap shook, and a broad-shouldered man ducked inside.
Jol Quimby’s wavy orange hair and short beard framed a face rarely without a grin.
Like Kurtz, he exuded rugged confidence.
Both were the kind of men who could drink heartily, fight fiercely, and talk their way out of trouble—or into it.
Quimby’s eyes held a mischievous glint. “Think she knew I altered my voice?”
Cole chuckled. “The bigger question is, could you tell she altered hers?”
“Nah, she’s a fine actor.” Quimby dropped onto his knees just inside the door. “As long as she lays low, no one will suspect a thing.”
“Enough about the girl,” Kurtz said. “Let’s talk about Ice Island, eh? What’ll we be dealing with up there?”
“Well, the biggest concern is that prisoners have been going missing,” Quimby said.
“How many?” Cole asked.
“Over thirty in the past four months.”
Kurtz whistled. “You sure it’s not just escapes? The guards sell everything. I’ve seen them misplace keys and look the other way. It’s all for sale, for those who can afford it.”
“No one is escaping,” Quimby said, “nor is this related to the king pardoning prisoners. His Highness made a mess of the place when he broke out you and Sir Eagan, but eventually the guards got a firm count on who remained.”
“My uncle is a prisoner on Ice Island,” Cole said. “Prince Oren wants me to talk to him. Perhaps he might know something.”
“Could be he does,” Quimby said. “But it won’t be easy for you to get in. In light of the missing, Verdot has stopped letting anyone visit.”
“When they got us off the island, Gavin made me swear to be nice to that man,” Kurtz said, “but it didn’t sit right with me. I still don’t trust him.”
“I wouldn’t trust him either,” Quimby said.
“How’s the lad supposed to visit his uncle if Verdot won’t allow it?” Kurtz asked. “Think Lord Livna could help make it happen?”
“Prince Oren would rather not involve Lord Livna in any of this,” Quimby said.
“Maybe we could sing at Ice Island,” Cole said. “Would the warden ever have reason to entertain the prisoners?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Kurtz said. “They’ve done such things before, they have. But I wouldn’t take Miss Wepp close enough to even look on that foul place.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Cole said. “Surely there are bloodvoicer guards? Watching the prison through the Veil?”
“No bloodvoicers can see into Ice Island anymore,” Jol said. “It’s hidden by rune magic.”
“Magosian witches in the king’s prison?” Kurtz asked.
Cole shuddered, thinking of the Chartom mages in Armonguard who had blocked bloodvoicers from seeing into their camp. Who had attacked him.
“Aye,” Jol said. “Another change after His Highness’s visit. The warden felt it worth working with a Magosian to keep the prison impenetrable. And the runes work. Against bloodvoicing magic, anyway. Bribes and whatever is going on with the missing prisoners is another matter.”
Getting inside Ice Island sounded impossible. “What do you know about my uncle?” Cole asked.
“Not much,” Quimby said. “Crispen West was sentenced twenty years for killing a local tailor. They got into a brawl when the tailor accused West of impropriety toward his wife, and West refused to pay for the work done. West claimed he never knew the tailor or the man’s wife, but there were plenty of witnesses who claimed otherwise. ”
“Prince Oren said he was framed,” Cole said.
“That’s the theory,” Quimby said. “He was definitely mixed up with the wrong crowd.”
“Did you know him?” Cole asked Kurtz.
“Nah, I was in Armonguard back then,” Kurtz said. “Eighteen years old and squiring in the king’s personal guard, so full of myself I couldn’t breathe. Thought I was Arman’s gift to the world, I did.”
Cole had heard plenty of stories from Kurtz’s days as one of King Axel’s Shields. “What about the tavern?” he asked. “Prince Oren also wants us to get hired at the Black Boar.”
“Didn’t exist before I went to the island,” Kurtz said.
“That place has a reputation,” Quimby said.
“The air is thick with pipe smoke and secrets. If a man has got the coin, he can buy anything—information, loyalty, an assassin. And if he’s looking for the kind of dealings best left off the record, he won’t find a better place, despite it being owned by an upstanding local councilman, Joonas Erlichman. ”
“Didn’t his father used to sell hunting dogs?” Kurtz asked.
“Joonas sells them now but is better known for boar. Makes a handsome profit too,” Quimby said. “Which reminds me. I suggest you also keep an eye on a man named Renshaw Thusk.”
“Who’s he?” Cole asked.
“Local businessman. He’s also on the Tsaftown ruling council—crooked, but everyone looks the other way. Backed Esek Nathak for king, so I suspect he’d oppose our new king if given the chance. I’ve had no excuse to get near him or his property to investigate, but you might, being new to town.”
“You want us to follow him?” Kurtz asked.
“Nothing that obvious,” Quimby said. “He owns the Ice House. It’s a pub.
You could try and get hired there and poke around.
But I’m almost positive Thusk will be at whatever banquet is thrown to honor Lord Livna’s return.
If I let you into Lytton Hall that night, one of you could swipe his keys.
Then you’d be able to search his offices and warehouse at your leisure. ”
“Won’t he tighten security if he thinks he lost his keys?” Cole asked.
“I’ll have the keys copied while I send word to Thusk and other members of the council that keys were found,” Quimby said. “If he gets them back from a member of Lord Livna’s guard the same night he lost them, he won’t suspect anything.”
Kurtz fixed his gaze on Cole. “You’re on key duty.”
Goosebumps broke out over Cole’s arms. “Why me?”
“Because you’re not the type to cause a distraction.” Kurtz punched his fist into his other hand.
“You really think that’s necessary?” Cole asked.
“Definitely,” Quimby said. “He’ll need to draw the attention of every eye in the great hall. If you can’t steal the keys, don’t worry about it. I just don’t know when you’d ever get another chance to be that close to Thusk in a crowd.”
“We’ll make the most of it, we will,” Kurtz said. “Don’t you worry about that, eh?”
Cole swallowed hard, glancing between Kurtz and Quimby. Steal a crooked councilman’s keys in a room full of nobles and guards? Sure. No pressure there. And if he got caught, maybe they’d throw him in the Ice Island prison in a cell right beside his uncle.
One could only hope.