Chapter 37
Cole
Cole’s legs burned as he tore through the falling snow, his breath clouding in erratic bursts. He met Kurtz at the back door to the Black Boar. Snow fell thickly around them, covering the ground with a powdery blanket.
“If she left any tracks, they’re gone now, they are,” Kurtz said, fiddling with the wick of his lantern, coaxing more light from its feeble flame.
Cole glanced down at his boots, already half covered in fresh snow. There was nothing around them—no scuffs, no drag marks, no footprints. “Think Nash was distracting me?” he muttered, more to himself than Kurtz. “Then why show me the passageway?”
“Maybe Drustan was acting on his own,” Kurtz said, “and Nash knows nothing about it, eh?”
Cole fisted his hands as he paced back toward the tavern. “He took her right under my nose. I didn’t even see her come out of the storage room. I was sitting there, tuning my lute. I’m such a fool!”
“We’ll find her, we will,” Kurtz said.
Cole spun back. “You can’t know that!”
“Hey,” Kurtz barked, his tone sharp. “Keep it down, will you?”
Cole barely heard him. “What was I thinking? A good soldier pays attention.”
“And what did you see?” Kurtz asked, his voice gentler this time.
Cole rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing. She was in the storage room. We talked about playing the funeral so we could keep an eye on Verdot and Thusk while you and Zanna…” Movement pulled his attention to two barmaids and a man standing outside the tavern’s back door, their gazes fixed on him.
Cole lowered his voice, suddenly wary. “I went out and talked to Nash. Then Crow voiced me and—”
“There’s your problem,” Kurtz said. “What did he want?”
Pressure coiled around Cole’s throat, threatening to strangle him. “He heard I was asking about Crispen West. Said Fenris used that name back in the day when he went to the tailor’s shop, so his father wouldn’t know he’d snuck off.”
Kurtz grunted. “Sounds about right.”
“I ran into the storage room to tell Mistel, but she was gone.” Cole’s voice broke slightly as he added, “What am I going to do? I was supposed to keep her safe. I failed her and the mission and I—”
Kurtz fisted Cole’s tunic and shook him, snapped him out of his spiral. “Enough! Look at me, lad. Into my eyes.”
Cole reluctantly fixed his gaze on Kurtz. It felt too raw, too exposing, and he glanced away.
“Look at me,” Kurtz sang.
Cole shifted his gaze back, his heart pounding in his ears.
“Breathe,” Kurtz commanded.
Cole sucked in an icy breath through his nose.
“I’m done listening to you lie to yourself, I am,” Kurtz said.
“You’re not a failure or you wouldn’t be here.
Even the best of men get the hood pulled over their eyes every so often, they do.
But they don’t stand out in the snow whining about it, eh?
They act. You’re going to go get her, you are. And right now.”
Cole wiped the melting snow off his face. “How?”
“You’re a smart lad. Think! He couldn’t have gone far.”
“The road?” Cole suggested, his voice gaining strength. “One of Thusk’s wagons?”
“I like that, I do,” Kurtz said, releasing him. “Let’s go look.”
Cole sprinted past Kurtz toward the stables, his boots crunching over the snow. Cherix would carry him faster than his feet, and he’d find Mistel.
He had to.
What was breath without Mistel? What was life if she was lost?
Cherix’s hooves thudded against the snow-packed cobblestone streets of the Fisherman’s Quarter, his steps steady despite the slick surface.
Thick, heavy flakes spiraled from the dark sky, coating Cole’s cloak and stinging his cheeks.
The wind bit into the tops of his ears, but he didn’t care. Not now. Not with Mistel gone.
Beside him, Kurtz rode Smoke, his lantern held aloft, its flickering yellow glow casting long, dancing shadows over the frosted eaves and snow-covered ground. The darkness pressed back heavily, swallowing details in every direction.
Cole scanned the streets, his gaze darting down alleyways and through the rare glass window.
The snow seemed to smother even the faintest sound.
No voices, no creaking wagons, not even the distant howl of the wind.
It was too quiet. Too still. Either Drustan hadn’t come this way, or he and Mistel were already gone.
“If Drustan harms her in any way, his blood will clean my sword,” Cole said.
Kurtz raised an eyebrow. “That’s the spirit.” He pulled Smoke to a halt at a crossroads. “I’ll take the east side. You check west.”
Cole turned Cherix westward. He pushed him into a canter and strained to see through the falling snow. His heart sank deeper with every empty street. All lay deserted, the fresh snow untouched by man, beast, wheel, or sleigh. If Drustan had come this way, the evidence had been buried.
By the time he met Kurtz back at the crossroads, Cole’s chest felt like it might erupt. “Anything?” he asked.
Kurtz shook his head. “Nothing.”
Cole clenched his reins, his knuckles white. An idea sprang to mind. “Bloodvoice Crow,” he demanded, his voice harsher than intended. “See if he knows anything.”
Kurtz didn’t argue, merely closed his eyes. The seconds stretched unbearably long as Cole waited, frustration building into something raw and desperate. He wanted to shout at Kurtz to hurry. Instead, he rubbed Cherix’s neck, trying to calm his trembling hands.
Kurtz finally came back to himself. “Crow thinks there’s a vault or cavern beneath the Black Boar. He’s never been in it and doesn’t know where the door is, but he swears he’s heard footsteps descending under the floorboards.”
Cole didn’t wait for more. He jerked Cherix’s reins and galloped back toward the Black Boar, snow spraying up around him as they tore through the night.
When they reached the tavern, Kurtz took Cherix’s reins. “I’ll put them up. Go on inside.”
Cole dismounted and rushed into the tavern, which was nearly empty now. The scattered chairs and few lit lanterns made the place feel strangely hollow.
He found Nash in the office, holding open a scroll, a candle guttering beside him.
“There’s an underground chamber here,” Cole said. “How do I get to it?”
Nash frowned, and the scroll he’d been reading curled on the desk in front of him. “There’s no underground chamber.”
“Crow thinks there is.” Cole eyed the walls. “He told Kurtz he’s heard footsteps going down stairs.”
“Crow’s crazy,” Nash said.
“What if he’s not?”
“I take it you didn’t find Miss Wepp outside.”
Cole clenched his teeth. “We did not.”
Nash sighed and pushed his chair back with a scrape. “I’m telling you, there’s no lower level. Look for yourself.”
In the distance, a door slammed, and bootsteps preceded Kurtz’s arrival in the office doorway, hair dusted with snow. “Well?”
“There’s no downstairs,” Nash repeated. “Check if you want.”
“A trapdoor, perhaps?” Kurtz asked.
Cole eyed the office floor, studying it for cutout lines.
Nash shrugged. “I’ve never seen one. Maybe in Fenris’s office?”
Cole’s pulse quickened. He exchanged a glance with Kurtz. “Show us,” he said, already moving out into the tavern.
Nash led them to the door just down from his. He opened it, revealing a long, narrow room that felt like it might have been built for storage. It held only a scarred table and three mismatched chairs. Along the back wall, a thin crack under an exterior door allowed fresh snow to drift inside.
The floorboards groaned underfoot as Cole crossed the room.
“It’s got its own exit.” He swung open the door to the snow-covered night, but the storm had erased any hope of tracks.
“Drustan wouldn’t have risked this exit,” he said.
“He’d have taken her out some hidden way, where no one would have seen them. ”
Nash pulled back a braided rug, revealing nothing but bare, splintered wood. “No trapdoor here.”
Cole swallowed hard, his gaze scanning the floor, the walls, everywhere. There had to be something. There had to be.
Kurtz’s voice touched his mind. Open up.
I hear you, Cole thought.
There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Kurtz voiced, and it can’t wait. Verdot is moving your father tomorrow morning. Looks like he’s going to sell him down Thusk’s trafficking river. If we’re going to break him out, it’s got to be tonight.
Cole’s heart dropped. “We’d have to go now,” he whispered.
Nash, still standing by the rug, glanced at him. “Go where?”
Cole clenched his jaw. “Nothing. Kurtz and I will search the floor in the tavern. Will you check the kitchen?”
“Sure,” Nash said, brushing past them.
Cole followed him out, then waited for Kurtz to join him. Once Nash was out of sight, he leaned toward Kurtz. “What am I supposed to do?” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “I can’t save them both.”
Kurtz gripped his shoulder. “One of us goes to Ice Island. The other stays here and finds the way down.”
A strange hollowness spread through Cole’s chest. “How can I choose between them?” He was supposed to be stronger than this.
Strong enough to protect the people he loved.
But he’d let his guard down, and now Mistel was gone, and his father, a man he’d never even gotten to know, was about to disappear forever.
Kurtz’s gaze didn’t waver. “Who did you make a promise to?”
“Mistel,” Cole said hoarsely. “I told her I’d keep her safe. But I also told Crispen I’d get him out.”
“You stay here and find Mistel. I’ll go get your father. Keep your mind open to me, and let me know what’s happening. I’ll do the same.”
“But we’ll lose the connection,” Cole said. “Once you step into that tunnel, the runes will cut off your magic.”
“Right. Forgot that, I did. I’ll message the king. He can help you.”
Cole blinked. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Bah! He won’t mind.” Kurtz beamed, and it felt almost out of place in the tense moment. “I’m glad I thought of it, I am. The king is good at this sort of thing.”
The knot in Cole’s chest loosened. Yes, Achan could enter the Veil and find any underground chambers in moments. “Good idea.”
“I have to go,” Kurtz said. “Zanna will be waiting for me.”
“Go,” Cole said. “Thank you.”
“We can’t let the enemy win this one.” Kurtz clapped him twice on the shoulder. “I’ll message the king from the road. Don’t forget to pray.”
“You either,” Cole murmured.
Kurtz started away, then paused and turned back. “One more thing, poet. If you come against something ugly, don’t get stuck there. Remember the good, eh? What Arman has done.”
Cole nodded. “I will.”
With that, Kurtz left Cole standing alone in the empty room, the weight of Mistel’s absence pressing down on him. He stared at the floor, searching for any sign of a trapdoor, but all he could see was Mistel bound and gagged in the hold of a ship bound for Jaelport.
If he was a hero, he wouldn’t need the king’s help to save her. If he was strong enough, she never would have been taken in the first place.
He shook the thoughts away, forcing himself to move, to keep looking. He could do this. Mistel was out there, somewhere. Arman would send the king to help. And Cole would not fail her again.