Chapter 20
CHAPTER
Vaasa went from room to room until she found them again, though by the time she returned, there were only three people remaining: Sachia, Vlacik, and Karev.
Her pulse quickened, entirely out of control.
The full view of them was covered by drapes that hung from the ceiling, looking like an art exhibit all on their own.
She found a couch and stretched herself across it comfortably as she spoke with a few of the patrons.
A merchant’s daughter, they probably assumed.
Spoiled. Immodest. She made up some story about her recent travels to a coastal territory, having assumed these men had more in common with the Old Asteryans than the New.
A few of the women joined the lords’ table as time passed.
One slid her hand down Lord Vlacik’s chest, fingers drawing circles on his shoulders.
He was lost in the trance of it, and soon enough, the two excused themselves through a set of doors that led to one of the staircases Vaasa knew granted access to the private suites on the upper levels.
Perhaps Vlacik’s room was reserved for that exact reason and nothing more.
Sachia leaned in closer to Karev, the two now whispering. Vaasa forced herself to look away, to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.
This place and its norms weren’t unfamiliar; Vaasa had snuck here quite a few times during her young adult life, mostly with Roman and his friends. She thought of their fight for only a moment, not allowing herself to get caught up in the memory.
She bided her time, conversing with the women, who had grown more comfortable in her presence, though when they realized she was unlikely to pay them herself, they moved on.
She kept her secret glances at Sachia as subtle as she could, doing a few turns around the main room and gazing upon the gallery portraits as if they were real and she was nothing but an admirer.
Someone sauntered up to Vaasa’s left, the way he held himself distinct and familiar.
Gray eyes looked down at her. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Lord Karev said quietly.
It was certain—his voice and his eyes were too recognizable, even beneath a red opera mask.
“You don’t look like any of the women who work here. ”
Slipping into another accent was second nature for Vaasa, and she did so with the same gusto she once had used to convince entire rooms of her father’s guests that she was able to confidently speak their language; that she was just like them.
The way she spoke concealed her true voice.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit pathetic that you’ve memorized all of the women who work here? ”
Lord Karev grinned, only half his mouth visible beneath his mask. “Apparently, not all.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sachia scurry toward the double doors that led to the stairs. For only a single moment, the woman looked up, and their gazes locked.
Vaasa looked away.
She wanted to kick herself. Her entire plan seemed to crumble through her fingers.
If she followed Sachia now, it would tip off Lord Karev.
If she didn’t, she might never know who those men were.
She’d hoped Karev would excuse himself and give Vaasa the opportunity to speak with Sachia at the table first.
The sound of a door opening drew her attention immediately, and she almost cursed under her breath.
A man walked through those doors. Though he wore a costume coat and had even changed his boots, Vaasa knew damn well who it was.
He donned a familiar mask made of crow’s feathers.
Each time they’d met here, he’d disguised himself as that very bird.
Roman.
Someone must have found her gone.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, turning to leave. Shit, shit, shit.
“Here for someone, then?” Lord Karev asked, eyes lifting to where Roman had just entered.
“We all have our hidden tastes,” Vaasa purred, shielding the sound of her voice once more and moving out of his orbit. If she had any luck, he would believe her some random woman waiting for a forbidden love she couldn’t have in the daylight.
Vaasa fled the room through the double doors and ascended the staircase in a hurry, hiking her dress up so she could run faster. Her only choice was to try and explore the second floor, to—
A hand gripped her arm, pulling her away from the stairs while another covered her mouth before she had a chance to speak.
She’d only caught a glimmer of him—a hard body and short hair, his features covered by a full face mask.
Her back fell harshly against his chest, and the door next to them opened.
The two of them went spilling into the room.
She tried to pull away, but his grip on her was too secure, and then he pressed his back against the door, holding it closed, still locking all of her against all of him.
A voice rose and broke on her name, so quietly spoken in her ear. “Vaasalisa.”
Her body froze. It had been so long since she had heard her name in his voice, and this time it wasn’t unfamiliarity or anger that rode the words. It was salvation, thick and piercing, in how he let the entirety of it spill from his lips.
His hand released her mouth at the same time the scent of him registered. Salt. Amber.
Home.
“How?” she breathed.
The sound of his Icrurian accent curled in her ear. “Not even death could keep me from you.”
“Reid.” Her voice cracked, and then she spun and threw herself at him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck at the same time his own dragged her against him.
She fought a wretched sob, forcing herself to stay quiet, afraid someone might hear them through the door.
But she felt him. Felt his heart beat wildly in his chest, felt the intensity of each thud.
She tore at his mask. It fell from his face and revealed the stunning lines of his jaw, lips, and cheeks.
Orange eyes and dark auburn hair, cut short now, his broad shoulders a beacon of home.
He looked so different without his long ponytail and dressed in Asteryan clothing, yet there was some instinct in her that recognized him perfectly—the one that yearned for every part of him.
His fingers gently lifted her own mask, and her heart rose as she watched him take in the sight of her unobstructed face.
“Finally.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “I found you.”
“You were never injured?” she asked.
It earned her that confident smirk of his, pride in what she now realized was his own small scheme. “No. Just on my way to you.”
“Reid,” she said again. Because she could.
Because she wanted to. Because it was hers to whisper.
She leaned into his large hand, the roughness of his skin a breath of fresh air, a relief of disproportionate measure against the deceiving softness of everyone else in this city.
She could stand no farther distance. Vaasa wound her hand around the nape of his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers in a searing kiss.
The intimacy seemed to unwind him, to confirm something for Reid that Vaasa didn’t understand.
But she felt the loosening of his body beneath her hands as he kissed her back.
He backed them further into the room, his free hand trailing behind him for only a moment before he twisted it into her hair.
His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, and she parted them, deepening the kiss.
Her hands clawed at his shoulders, dragging herself against his body as tightly as she could go.
“Run away with me, Wild One,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let me take you home.”
For a stolen breath, she pretended that it was that simple.
That they could sprint down the stairs and out into the snow and steal a boat from the harbor, rowing all the way home.
But then reality returned, and Vaasa remembered exactly who was searching for her downstairs.
Fear yanked her upright; it caused her world to tilt and shatter.
“You have to hide,” she said, head whipping around and looking for a good spot. There was a closet on the far side of the room, but would Reid fit into it?
“What is going on?” he asked, his thick Icrurian accent weaving between them. His body had gone stiff again.
Vaasa didn’t know how to explain. Nerves racked against her ribcage. To contextualize everything with Roman would take far longer than they had. “My lead sentinel didn’t give me permission to leave. He’s trying to find me downstairs. If he sees you, if he—”
“I’ve locked the door,” Reid assured her, inspecting her frightened gaze. “There was no one behind you on the stairs.”
“Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
Vaasa stared up at him. Perhaps Roman would think she wasn’t here and just leave. If she waited it out…
They were alone.
“How did you know it was me?” she whispered.
The very edge of his mouth turned up into that amused grin, the same one that had at one time sent anger rushing through her. His Icrurian accent played with her, all soft vowels and strung-together words. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you through a mask? I’ve seen through every one.”
Her entire being reached for him, as it always seemed to. Her hands rose to touch his jaw. His cheeks. To trace the lines of his face, just to be sure it was all real.
But it was real. Reid was here, in Mekes. Roman was right downstairs. Karev and Vlacik were under the same roof.
Yet all she could focus on was him. Her body knew, and the tautness in her muscles loosened. She could finally let fear fall. This was the undeniable effect Reid of Mireh had upon her; before him, no one had ever brought her peace.
“How are you here?” she asked.
He loosened his grip upon her, gesturing toward the window. “I’ll tell you everything later. For now, we need to find Amalie and run. We’ve gotten luckier—”
“He has Amalie,” Vaasa interrupted. Her hand wrapped around his wrist. “Ozik has her in the prison. If I go, he’ll kill her.”