Chapter 22 The Inn #2
“He eavesdropped on our entire conversation yesterday,” I say. “It was stupid of me to forget fae have excellent hearing.”
Jasmeen half-snorts. “Well, I should have considered that, too. I assume none of it was news to him though, surely?”
“He did not know Mavick was a Gatekeeper, no,” I admit. She’s quiet for a long moment, deciding something.
“Thea, I hope I’m not forward for saying this, considering we hardly know each other—”
“What do you mean? You’ve already seen me naked,” I jest. She laughs and shakes her head, staring tactfully at the opposite wall.
“I know all that you’ve learned so far about Mavick seems… well, bad. And maybe I’m an optimist. But I’m also very logical,” she says, her tone sobering. “I don’t think Mavick’s using you for some sort of grand scheme. I trust Mavick.”
If Jasmeen knew I was a princess, knew of the stakes, I wonder if she would think differently…
Mavick did not betray me. Mavick is my friend. I trust Mavick, and Mavick trusts me, the mantra floats unbidden through my head. Jasmeen trusts Mavick, too. And I trust Jasmeen. I sigh.
The alternative though, if this was not Mavick’s plot against the Gale line, is that they were taken for one reason or another. Gravely injured. And that pill is equally as hard to swallow.
She seems to read my thoughts. “But if it wasn’t an intentional betrayal… Mavick is still missing. And that’s scary. Especially as a Gatekeeper. Castle Gale is unguarded—and it’s anybody’s guess who is privy to that fact outside of the four of us.”
“Terrifying,” I whisper, swallowing the lump of anxiety that tightens my throat.
I cannot dwell on this revelation. I must stay hopeful or I will lose myself to panic.
“I do not know what to believe. I want to believe Mavick would never hurt me. But I do not know who to trust—I fear my naivety will be what betrays me.”
“You trust our merry band here?” Jasmeen asks, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“I trust you, at least,” I admit. I unbraid my hair to wash it. “Glo is scary, but I think I trust her. Her loyalty is unmatched.”
“Vir, too?” she asks quietly, pinching at a wrinkle on her pants.
“I think so. Should I not?” I ask. My stomach roils at once.
“I know of him, of course—I don’t know him well, though. He has always been polite,” she says with a small shrug. Relief floods me. “I assume we’ll get to know each other better on this journey.”
“I did not tell him I used Yield on my father,” I confess. “So I did have to explain that omission.”
“Was he angry?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, her short hair brushing the top of her shoulder.
“Probably more for withholding information… I told him I didn’t know what it was, or that it was forbidden. He’s more suspicious of Mavick, I think.”
Jasmeen lets out a soft hum. We sit in silence for a spell.
“You didn’t ask, but… I don’t think less of you, you know—for what you did to get out of there. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, too,” she finally says.
“That’s very kind of you, Jas,” I say, recalling what Brynn said last night about forgiving myself. Perhaps they are both too good for me. “I’m so glad you agreed to come along.”
She grabs my hand resting on the side of the tub and gives it a gentle squeeze. My eyes water at the gesture.
“I do like Glo, though,” she says after a beat, releasing me and folding her hands together in her lap.
“Like… like how?” I say, smirking. Jasmeen can’t resist, she glances over at me. Her pretty green eyes twinkle in the faerielight.
“Oh! I sometimes struggle to read people—especially the fae. It’s hard to tell if she’s fond of me or if she’s just… fae,” she confesses, cheeks turning rosy. Somehow, I know exactly what she means. Perhaps Brynn wasn’t flirting at all. Perhaps he was ‘just fae.’
“Well… I won’t speak for her,” I say, pushing my own thoughts away, “but I think she’s been wanting to meet you for some time.”
Though I love the idea of playing matchmaker, I don’t want to be the one to tell Jasmeen that Glo has feelings for her. It should bud organically. The corners of Jasmeen’s lips raise in a shy smile as she averts her gaze to the tiled floor.
After a bit, Jasmeen hands me a towel and leaves the washroom so that I can dry off in privacy.
I slip back into my bottoms, as there’s no other option.
I left my black dress at Brynn’s apartment.
It’s dead to me anyway, now that I know the pleasure of pants.
Maybe I’ll soak my clothes while we’re here for the night.
I twist my hair up into the towel and open the door to find Jasmeen rummaging through her bag. She tosses me a bundle of white fabric.
“It’s not much, but I did at least grab a few extra tunics. I would think we’re the same size,” she remarks.
“You are incredible,” I say, removing the towel and slipping my bandeau and the fresh tunic on. It’s not as low cut as the shirts Glo brought me thankfully, but it is off the shoulder—the material delicate and soft on my clean skin.
Jasmeen bathes as well. I spend the alone time sorting through my bag. I eye the dagger but ultimately decide to leave it. It seems aggressive to bring a blade to dinner. Next, I retrieve the folded parchment and at last reread the new lines.
So you’ve chosen to work with the Vir. You put your prized trust in what exactly you fear. But is it enough to reclaim what you hold dear, or will you simply watch as everything disappears?
Why is it so much more ominous than the last time I read it?
I’d been so distraught after learning about Yield—the glaring possibility that I endangered my entire kingdom thanks to my impulsivity and Mavick’s lack of instructions—that it felt minute in comparison.
I put my prized trust in what exactly I fear.
What do I fear? The fae? Trusting anyone?
But my attention snags on a tiny word. The Vir. The. Strange.
After a few minutes puzzling over this, Jasmeen emerges from the bathroom. Donned in fresh clothing, she rubs a clean towel over her wet hair. She spies the parchment in my hands, brow furrowing.
“This is the note I told you about—the one left at Mavick’s when I discovered them missing,” I explain.
She crosses the room and joins me on the bed.
“The top bit here is what I first found. These last few lines came up after”—I hesitate, careful not to mention the deal that binds Brynn and me—“you told me about Yield in the bazaar yesterday morning.”
Jasmeen takes the paper, her eyes moving over the words swiftly. They narrow. She finishes and flips it over to check the back, too. She shakes her head.
“This is odd, I’ll admit,” she says, handing it to me. Her baffled gaze meets mine and she clicks her tongue. “I mean, the fae love their wordplay… but this—this feels different. Even the parchment feels unusual, does it not? It’s like it… sings.”
I stare at the words again. It’s obviously magicked—for the newest lines to appear after I made the deal with Brynn, despite being in my satchel for days.
I hold it taut, trying to concentrate. Jasmeen holds her breath, curling one leg underneath her.
I think of the way I know when glamours are in use and wonder if it’s a rare talent.
I close my eyes for ten seconds, open them, squint, as if that’ll make the telltale glimmer of concealment appear around its edges and creases.
Nothing… though I may have pulled a muscle in my brain.
Maybe Jasmeen is more attuned to this kind of thing having been around magic for so long.
“I don’t feel anything,” I sigh in defeat. My eyes catch on the Vir and I’m distracted once again. “But… isn’t it strange that it says ‘the Vir’? I didn’t notice that detail before. The.”
Jasmeen sits straighter, shrugging. “That’s not that unusual.”
“It’s not? Seems odd to put a the in front of a name,” I say, perplexed. I stare at it on the page, thinking I must be missing something glaring.
“Well, it’s not just a name, is it?”
My alarmed gaze meets her confused one. The color drains from my cheeks as the blood in my veins stills. Jasmeen’s brow creases with concern.
“It’s a title. He’s the prince of the Kingdom of Sanctuary.”