Chapter 43
Mistel
Cole loved her.
The thought glimmered in Mistel’s memory like candlelight on a blade: beautiful and a little terrifying.
Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since they’d escaped from that horrible warehouse.
Sure, she’d stolen the guard’s keys and would have gotten out of the cage on her own, but what could she have done against Drustan and his sword? If Cole hadn’t come when he did…
But he had come. Her knightling had fought for her. Won for her.
Now, as they walked side by side through the tunnel beneath the frozen ocean, her limbs trembled, not just from the damp cold that had seeped deep into her bones, but from everything that had happened, including the vanishing of that man Cole said was Bahram Rakkel.
Mistel loved adventure, yes. But not the kind that rendered her helpless—she eyed the red stain on Cole’s tunic—not the kind that ended with someone she cared about bleeding, sword in hand, standing between her and a monster.
She tugged her cloak tighter, grateful she still had it, grateful Cole was still with her. “How do runes stop bloodvoicing magic?” she asked, needing something to talk about, to distract her from what they’d just survived. “Shouldn’t Arman’s magic be unstoppable?”
Cole shot her a sideways glance. “Just because Arman created something doesn’t mean people can’t manipulate it. We’re all free to make our own choices.”
The logic of that settled over Mistel like an unbalanced yoke. Before she could respond, a noise rose ahead, soft but distinct—the scuff of boots on stone.
She stiffened. “Turn off the light.”
“But we won’t be able to—”
Mistel reached toward the lantern in Cole’s hand and turned the damper until the flame snuffed out and plunged them into darkness. Silence stretched around them. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and edged closer to Cole. Perhaps she should have listened to him.
A familiar voice cut through the darkness. “Cole?”
Mistel exhaled a long breath. “Zanna.”
“We’re here!” Cole called.
He found Mistel’s hand and pulled her forward. She disliked moving blindly but trusted his sure steps to lead them safely.
Ahead, a faint stripe of golden light cut through the blackness. A door, cracked open and lit with distant torchlight. The door into Ice Island.
Zanna emerged from the shadows just outside the door. “It was a trap,” she said. “They knew we were coming.”
Mistel’s stomach dropped.
“What happened to Kurtz?” Cole asked. “My father?”
“Captured,” Zanna said. “Verdot plans to sell them both in the morning. They’re in a cell on the ground floor.”
“Then we get them out,” Mistel said.
Cole gave her a sharp look. “Not without a plan.”
“Don’t get too close,” Cole said, taking hold of Mistel’s hand.
Warm, steady fingers. Arman help her, that hand had said I love you not so long ago, and now it wanted her to stay safe.
Two guards stood outside the door of the holding cell. Zanna had called the big one with warrior braids Nesson, and the other, all beard and attitude, Boreth.
“I’ll be careful.” Mistel kissed Cole’s knuckles. Then she let go, squared her shoulders, and sauntered out into the corridor, voice rising into song.
“I don’t belong here.
Why do I try so hard to fit?
I have so many feelings in a day.
It’s hard to know what to do or say.”
Nesson lifted his head. “What are you doing in here, poppet?”
“Do you remember me, Master Nesson?” Mistel asked, tilting her head just a bit.
“Should I?”
“The minstrels,” Boreth said, stepping closer. “Sang out in the yard a few weeks back.”
His belt jingled, and Mistel eyed the lovely, shiny keys hanging there. She beamed and stepped closer. “Did you enjoy our performance?”
“Sure, I did.”
“You didn’t say why you’re here, miss,” Nesson said. “And at this hour?”
Before she could spin a long tale, Zanna stormed down the corridor toward them, her expression so fierce, it almost scared Mistel. “You!” she yelled. “I told you not to leave the room.”
Mistel darted behind Boreth and clutched his arm. “She just wants to spoil my fun.”
“What’s this about, Anna?” Boreth asked. His arm, raised between Zanna and Mistel, proved he’d bought Mistel’s act.
“She needs to wait where the warden put her,” Zanna said.
“It’s so boring there.” Mistel circled to Boreth’s other side, keeping him between her and Zanna.
“I need her out of here,” Zanna snapped.
“Why’s she here so late, anyway?” Nesson asked.
“Wait a minute,” Boreth said. “I say we hear her out.”
While they argued, Mistel’s fingers slipped the key ring free from Boreth’s belt. Just a little tug, a shift of weight, and behold, they were in her pocket. She bit back a grin and whistled sharply.
Cole burst from the shadows and punched Nesson in the face. Zanna elbowed Boreth. The guards fought back. In the chaos, Mistel scrambled to the door, pulse hammering as she fumbled through a dozen keys.
Cole’s shoulder slammed into her back, knocking her against the door.
She yelped.
“Sorry,” he shouted, still swinging at Nesson.
Finally, a key turned, the lock clicked, and Mistel shoved the door open. There stood Kurtz, alive and bouncing on his toes. Crispen sat slumped against the wall.
Kurtz grinned so wide she could see both his dimples. “I should’ve known the key thief would come for us.”
Mistel gestured out the door toward the brawl. “I think they could use your help.”
“Happy to lend a hand.”
Kurtz charged into the fray, and within moments, both guards were down. Zanna and Cole dragged Nesson into the cell, and Kurtz followed, hauling Boreth by the ankles.
“Son,” Crispen said.
Cole helped his father stand. For a moment, neither moved.
They just looked at each other. Then Cole briefly embraced Crispen.
And just as Cole started to let go, his father pulled him into a fierce embrace.
Mistel blinked away the sting in her eyes, smiling at the reunion.
When they finally broke apart, everyone left the cell, and Mistel locked the guards inside.
As they raced back down the curling stairs, Kurtz swiped a torch from the wall.
“I much preferred my second, shorter stay on the island,” he said. “But I’d rather not come back, eh?”
At the tunnel, they headed across the chilly darkness. Cole caught Mistel’s hand as they ran. She felt happier than she had in weeks. Maybe forever. Love and success and hope made everything light. Surely there was a song in all this.
They eventually reached the stairs on the other end, climbed up, and exited the cave near Cliffwatch, where the acrid scent of smoke filled the night air.
“Something’s on fire,” Cole said.
Kurtz veered away from where they’d left the horses and followed the path toward the gatehouse.
Zanna called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To stop Verdot.”
Of course he was.
Mistel followed with the others. The gatehouse was deserted, the gate open, and in the bailey, a wagon with two hitched horses stood empty.
Kurtz charged up the steps to Verdot’s office, three at a time. The smoke grew thicker and stung Mistel’s eyes.
At the top, Mistel paused in an open doorway and blinked through the haze into an office. A woman stood behind the desk, feeding scrolls into an iron brazier. Flames hungrily licked at the parchment.
Mistel gasped. “Rilla?”
Kurtz drew up sharply before the desk. “What are you doing here?”
Rilla, the barmaid from the Ivory Spit, glanced up. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Well, I’m looking right at you, I am,” Kurtz said, “and I have no idea what it looks like. What in blazes are you doing?”
“She’s burning evidence,” Cole said.
Kurtz vaulted over the desk and grabbed Rilla, who yelped but managed to toss another bundle of scrolls into the fire before Kurtz caught her wrists.
“Put that out!” he yelled.
Cole grabbed a water pitcher off the sideboard and doused the fire. Mistel snatched a cloak from a hook and threw it over the flames. The edges lit, but she folded the cloth in on itself, and the extra layers smothered the fire.
Footsteps pounded outside. “I’ve got the rest of what I left upstairs.”
Verdot Amal.
Mistel’s heart fluttered. This was it. They were going to catch the villain.
Zanna pushed Crispen behind the open door and drew her sword, every inch the fierce warrior.
Rilla stared at Zanna. “Don’t hurt—”
Kurtz clamped a hand over her mouth and crouched with her, low and hidden by the desk.
Cole wrapped his arm around Mistel’s waist and tugged her against the sideboard with him.
His touch steadied her. She eyed the cut on his side and wanted to say something, but the scrape of the door drew her attention.
Verdot entered, arms full of scrolls, and halted mid-stride. “Rilla?”
Zanna stepped away from the wall and slammed the door behind him. “I smelled smoke,” she said coolly.
Mistel held her breath as Verdot looked Zanna up and down. “Miss Anna. Are you starting your shift? Or just coming off?”
“I’m finished with Ice Island.”
Verdot chuckled nervously. “Ah, well, as you can see, it’s very late. I’m just tidying up. Do have a good evening. If you need something, come back tomorrow when—”
“You won’t be here tomorrow.” Cole stepped out from behind the shelf, a fierceness in his gaze that stirred Mistel’s heart.
“Master Tanniyn.” A vein bulged in Verdot’s forehead as he watched Cole cross the office. “The hour is quite late.”
Cole edged past Verdot, opened the door, and stuck his head out.
“This is most irregular,” Verdot said.
Cole turned, beaming as he stood just on the outside of the door. He spread his arms wide and said, “He’s here.”
Verdot frowned and peeked past Cole. “Who?”
“The king has a message for you. He says, ‘Put to the test, you have failed to meet his standards.’”
Verdot blinked, his jaw working as he stammered, “Th-the k-king? Here?”
“Standing right beside me,” Cole said, smirking. “Due to the runes, he can’t see inside your office, but don’t worry. I’ve told him everything.”
Verdot’s frown deepened as his gaze swept out the door.