CHAPTER 4 #2
“I’d like to know where I am staying,” I said carefully. “But I’m sure Lord Reagan has better things to do.”
“It’s just Reagan,” he replied, exhaling deeply. “I suppose it would be fun to watch you holding that knife the whole morning. At least until I decide what to do with you.”
It was surprising that he didn’t insist on his title, given how much he demanded obedience. I considered my response, but there was no point in lying.
“I don’t trust you,” I admitted. “And you did threaten to kill me, so forgive me if your company isn’t exactly desirable.”
At that, he smirked, his gaze moving from my knife to Cerridwen.
“You threatened her?” Cerridwen asked, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.
“She’s being dramatic,” he said, casually stirring the porridge that had appeared in front of him. “Finn, why don’t you take her to the city and keep an eye on her?”
They exchanged a long look until the blond finally gave in. “Fine,” he answered. “Of course.”
The staff looked at me expectantly.
“Fine,” I echoed. “Am I staying here? In your residence?”
“If you wish,” Reagan answered, eyes on his coffee. “But if you prefer to stay in the city, that’s your choice. Not mine.”
“Why?” I probed, taking a bite of bread.
“Because you’re a human,” Reagan said simply. “People who live in this city won’t harm you, but there may be other passersby who are . . . less welcoming. Though if you die by accident, I suppose that’s one less problem for me.”
I stopped chewing, the food turning to muck in my mouth, while the bastard merely sipped from his mug. Barracus gave a slight nod over his newspaper as Cerridwen and Finnegan exchanged glances.
I didn’t say another word for the rest of the meal, wondering just how exactly I was under anyone’s protection here.
◆◆◆
After breakfast, Finnegan guided me to a courtyard of frost-laden greenery, stretching far beyond the gurgle of twin fountains nestled against rows of bushes and pale twigs.
He handed me a burgundy cloak to blend in better in the city; his own black one with a high collar seemed as effective as mine at keeping out the biting wind.
“I don’t think we gave you the best first impression,” Finnegan said as we strolled toward the front gates.
“Hard to imagine that,” I answered, making no effort to sound pleasant, though he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
He smiled. “I can’t say I blame you. So, let’s try this again. You can call me Finn. I’m an emissary to Mountheim and part of Reagan’s staff. What should I know about you?”
Of all the strangers, he was the least unnerving, though he carried the same weighty presence as the others, as if the air around them were charged and distinct. His was a blend of pines and something metallic.
But the smile was effective. I imagined that sending the charming one to ask questions wasn’t an accident.
There was an ease about him, a way that was both humorous and disarming.
They probably expected I’d be swayed by his obvious good looks.
He was a classical type of handsome, with symmetrical, earthy eyes and broad, elegant shoulders.
Yet he was prying into me because he worked for that man.
“Just a seller who had to swap selling books for trading leather accessories,” I said, with more bite than intended, my eyes scanning the courtyard for unguarded exits. “What does an emissary do?”
Finn strode on, hands clasped behind his back. “Some trading, too. But mostly, emissaries go on liaisons to represent the estate. That’s a fancy way of saying I visit other territories on Reagan’s behalf. Some emissaries also handle security for our borders if they have the proper training.”
“Security against what?” I turned to him as curiosity crept in.
“Anything. Dangerous creatures, ill-intentioned people, any nightmarish thing that threatens the estate,” he explained, and I felt myself shuddering as a memory came to my mind.
“I saw a creature in the woods. I guess Reagan killed it before it killed me.”
Finnegan was nodding. “Reagan told me it was a Grim. They are the type of nightmarish things we want to keep out of the city. The Northern Forest is home to several creatures. Were you alone when you entered the forest?”
“Yes,” I said, conceding to his prying. “What is a Grim?”
“They are semi-dead animals that feast on flesh, so it was a very lucky thing that Reagan found you when he did. I recommend not going there by yourself,” he warned.
But that was exactly what I needed to do if I wanted to reach that station again. Or maybe there was another way that would lead me there.
We reached the gates, and Finnegan raised his hands, a faint shimmer tracing the tendons of his fingers. They groaned open, their protest like ancient hinges turning.
“Are the gates enchanted too?” I asked as we approached them.
“Yes, they’re protected with wards. It’s like a barrier, only invisible. The entire estate is warded in a similar way, though we’ve been having some issues lately.” His lips thinned, as if he hadn’t meant to add the last part.
Between the enchanted gates and the eerie woods behind the castle, escaping this place would be no easy task.
Under a cloudy grey sky, we stepped onto a broad street, flanked by narrower lanes. Between high mountains with snowy peaks lay an actual city.
Houses with steep gabled roofs stood clustered together, their worn wooden balconies decorated with rustic, crooked signs. Chimneys puffed smoke into the crisp air.
The cobblestone street we walked along was lined with shops, warm golden light spilling from the windows. The place bustled with people clad in dark cloaks.
“Welcome to the main city,” Finnegan said. “It’s the heart of Mountheim and the closest to your human lands.”
We strolled past buildings of weathered wood and stone that looked as if they had stood there for centuries. They were well-maintained but definitely old.