Chapter Eight
EIGHT
The door slams shut behind me, and I’m alone.
“You piece of shit!” I yell into the still, dusty room, fists slamming at the back of the door. A flare of pain whips up my wrist, and I bite back a cry. “Damn it.”
A deep cold presses in. It’s a draft, wafting through my worn tunic.
A flicker of orange light catches at the edge of my sight, and I turn to see a log snap and crackle in an enormous sandstone hearth, big enough to stand in.
Despite myself, the rippling heat draws me closer.
These aren’t the cheap peat bricks we use in Quayside but actual wood.
Whole logs of it, fragrant bark curling lazily.
I reach my hands toward the heat, and slowly, my pulse steadies.
I can still do this. I can find a way out of this castle before the Assay starts and get back to Finn before the noble daughters get their chance to toy with me in front of the entire court.
I lean in close enough for the flames to coax blood into my cheeks and let the warmth sink into my chilled skin.
“Get any closer and that heat’s enough to burn,” a rough voice warns.
I whirl around to see the curtains shift at the far edge of the room.
Two figures emerge then from the velvet lengths hanging like a tapestry down the wall with a narrow-paned window and door set into it. Both of them are tall and wear heavy cloaks with the hoods pulled up to hide their faces. One navy and one black with a gold chain fastening around the neck.
The heat of the fire presses against my spine as I put my back to the hearth and shift my weight into the fighting stance Finn drilled into me over the last few years.
My nose tingles the closer the figures come. Something in the air between us smells… raw, and wild. The way it smells when the mist is thickest, a sheet of silvery gray hanging over Eireann like a damp veil.
The tallest of the cloaked figures laughs.
His tone is a thorn under my skin, and loathing heats my veins.
“You.” The word tears out of me.
He slides back his hood. The Whisperer’s features are as sharp as the knife he slashed at me the last time we saw each other—was it days ago? I lost track of time in that cell. The branching scar along his jaw tugs into a wicked smirk. “Miss me?”
I glare back at him. “Not even a little bit.”
Sweat slicks my palm as I reach for the knife I always wear at my hip but find only the sheath—the very empty sheath. The gardai took everything I had on me.
Shit.
Hands up. I hear Finn’s drilling voice bark in my mind. Curl your fists. I might not have a weapon, but I won’t surrender without a fight. Never take your eyes off your enemy.
If he’s come to break his word, to make sure I can’t betray him to anyone in this castle, then I’ll have to make sure to leave him with even more scars—warnings to anyone else tempted to trust him in the future.
He might’ve sworn not to kill me, but what proof do I have that he’ll actually keep his word? Old Ones know, if it were me, I’d break any vow if it meant keeping Finn and me safe. Survival matters more than your word.
Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t hate him for making me the fool here.
“We made a deal. You broke it.” I throw the words out like barbs.
He wears a dozen different daggers strapped into the close-fitting sheaths down his ribs, all clearly visible now along the leather jacket beneath his open cloak.
A short sword hangs at his left side in the sheath that was empty before, along with a smaller, enviably sharp knife fastened around his right thigh.
The Whisperer’s green eyes flash. “Oh no,” he says, rough voice lowering as he prowls toward me.
I fight the urge to step back, but there’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction.
“We didn’t just make a deal, you and I. You made me a promise—her life for yours. ”
“And then you turned me in,” I accuse, and his answering smirk is all the confirmation I need. “You had the gardai drag me through the streets. They could’ve killed me.”
The figure in the navy cloak barks a rough laugh, and I catch a glimpse of teeth sharpened into fangs. It’s the mage from what must be the rebels’ safe house in the city—the other Whisperer.
Why would either of them risk coming here?
“You were never in any real danger.” He shrugs.
“The arrest warrant only named you as a thief, not a traitor. Do you really think we don’t have friends in the gardai?
” He nods toward the door, where I can only bet the copper-haired guard is waiting on the other side.
“That guard that brought you up here? They’re not just wearing that uniform for fun. ”
Was that guard watching me the whole way home with the magic in my pocket? I remember the creeping unease, the dread that snaked around my throat. It was so damn easy to brush it off as paranoia at what I’d just done.
I ignored my own instincts.
“You risked my life bringing me here.” Like I’m worth nothing.
“Yes. And I would do it again. This isn’t about you.
” He answers without hesitation, and those ruthless dark green eyes scorch me.
“I would kill an innocent and swap you in her place all over again just to get you here. Because I keep my promises,” he says in a lethally soft voice. “And you owe me a debt.”
“I don’t owe you anything anymore.” I raise my chin. “Not if you’re trying to get me killed. The Assay is a death trap. Everyone knows it.”
If I can just get out of this room, I can make a run for it… Old Ones, I don’t even know where I’d start, but there has to be a way out of here.
How else could he have gotten in?
The Whisperer tilts his head. His eyes darken on mine. I grit my teeth and fight the shiver building along my spine.
“Now, let me make one thing very clear.” His voice roughens, the edges of each word like a worn blade. “You do, in fact, still owe me a debt. Until I release you, your life belongs to me. That’s the bargain we struck—and either you pay the debt or Finn will.”
Terror wraps around my throat. So much for running away.
“How do you—?”
“Know her name?” He stalks across the space between us. “You think I didn’t know exactly who you were when I gave you that vial?”
I glimpse a small shift behind his dark eyes, as if he’s trying to piece me and where I come from together. A second later, a cold mask replaces the flicker of humanity, and I tense.
The Whisperer leans in another inch. “Have you really never demanded the truth?”
Every word grazes a raw nerve.
I should’ve pushed harder. I should’ve made Finn tell me more.
How much has she been keeping from me?
The Whisperer’s eyes take in my face, now flushed from the heat. A muscle in his neck tightens. “Or,” he ventures, voice deadly soft. “Maybe you’re just a coward?”
The man moves fast as lightning. Quicker than Finn, quicker than Keeva.
I shift a split second before he reaches for me, the tensing muscles in his neck and shoulders betraying him. I twist away—but I’m not fast enough to sidestep him altogether, and I stumble as he snakes a boot behind mine.
My weight shifts, sending me tripping right into his waiting free arm. He brings his forearm up against my collarbone, holding me prisoner with my back pressed tight against the hard plane of his chest. The hilts of his sheathed daggers dig into the backs of my ribs.
Furious heat rushes into my cheeks in a crushing wave. “Let me go.”
I kick back, trying to remember all the tips Finn ever gave me to break someone’s hold. But this Whisperer’s grip is iron, and everything she ever tried to teach me flees my mind. Fury twists inside me when his chest rumbles with an easy laugh.
His mouth draws close enough for me to feel his breath on the shell of my ear. “How do I know you aren’t going to try to kill me?”
Fuck. Him.
All it takes is an inch to close the distance between us—and I shove every ounce of my strength into the blow.
I ram my skull backward, using his iron grip on me as leverage, and slam the back of my head into his jaw—right where I know that branching scar marks his skin.
In the same instant, my hand skims the edge of his right thigh and snatches the closest blade from its sheath, palming its easy weight.
“You don’t,” I snarl.
His hiss of pain makes my blood sing.
One hand lets go of me, and the other isn’t nearly as tight.
I slither free from him, drawing the stolen knife up in front of me as his green eyes blacken on mine.
A low growl catches at the back of his throat.
I smile sweetly, lifting my brows in a clear taunt.
If he thinks I’m going to be easy to manipulate, I’ll show him.
“You want to call in the deal we made? Fine,” I snap. “Tell me what I need to do so I never have to see you again.”
Pride simmers in me at the barely contained wince as his jaw clenches.
“Stop toying with her,” the mage in the navy cloak orders him. “While this is highly entertaining, you’re wasting our time. We have things to do.”
The man glares at her, and for a second I think he’ll refuse.
The mage’s eyes narrow, and her hand curls into a fist. A tendril of shimmering darkness slithers between her fingers just as the man grimaces, his mouth twisting an instant later into a smirk as his spine stiffens and his cheeks pale beneath his stubble.
Her fist releases, and the tension warring behind the man’s eyes does too.
He turns to me then, nodding begrudgingly at the blade in my grip. One hand goes to the thin scab along his temple where I threw the blade at him days ago.
“You’re quick,” he admits. “And clearly, not bad with a blade.”
A tiny glimmer of pride lights in my chest. “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”