by Ann Aguirre
“Let’s look around.” He made his tone brisk. “They can’t have been guarding an empty cellar.”
“Agreed.” Relief in her tone, she headed away from him into the darkness.
Gavriel switched his own torch on and scanned the space in the far corner. “Got some boxes here. I’m opening them.”
“Same,” she called back.
He swore. “This must be their stockpile, the meds they planned to use to turn the town, if most hadn’t panicked, hidden. or run away.”
“We can’t leave this intact,” Mags said.
“My thoughts exactly. Let’s move the crates out of the church and have a bonfire.”
“I’ll do the heavy lifting. You keep watch for me.”
She’s still protecting me.
Since Oriel died, nobody had his back like this. When Mags stacked two crates and set off with them, past Gavriel would have thought she was showing off. Now he understood that was her work ethic and the fact that she knew her own strength. As they came out of the church, a few Eldritch were waiting, eyes trained on the drug cartons.
“What do you plan to do with those?” the spokesman asked.
“Burn everything in the square,” Mags answered. “It’s a waste of good Animari medicine, but I can’t let it sit here until my people can reclaim it.”
“Then we’ll help you. Klem! Dalal! Go with them. Follow orders and stay out of the way, please.”
Two young Eldritch fell in behind Mags while Gavriel stayed with the crates in the square. It was unlikely anyone would try to tamper with them, but just in case, he drew his knives. He would have preferred to escort her to and from the church himself, but the survivors wanted to help, and they were hale enough to haul boxes.
Still, every moment she was out of his sight, his skin itched and he paced like a captive animal, back and forth, the sun beaming down as if to mock his unease. At least the snow was melting, and Gray should be eating well.
The old man smirked at him. “Impatient, lad? She must be quite dear to you. I imagine that’s a story.”
He narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the other Eldritch. A touch of his old ice emerged. “Pardon?”
“You’d rather not talk about your lady. I understand.”
Gavriel couldn’t bring himself to disclaim Mags, though the old man’s statement wasn’t true. Part of him wished that it was—that it could be—but she had been crystal clear about the terms. Things were already a fucking mess, and he wouldn’t make them worse.
He even knew the names of the loves she’d lost, though he didn’t know how. Asking for more details would be the ultimate self-flagellation, so he’d probably never indulge his secret, silent curiosity, not least because he couldn’t bear to see her heartbroken over someone else. For him, there had only ever been Oriel, a brotherly bond, and Thalia, whom he’d worshiped more than loved.
Even more townsfolk pitched in, so they got the boxes piled quickly, then someone fetched a bottle of cheap liquor to prime the contents for burning. Mags handled the enkindling—just as well because when the burn got hot and bright—the vials began to pop, tiny little blue bursts in the yellow-orange conflagration. Everyone backed off to watch the stockpile go up in smoke, a testament to the fall of House Manwaring.
When Mags stepped up beside him, he sensed her closeness and reached for her without thinking. When did touching her become second nature? He used to hate casual contact, and even now, he couldn’t imagine letting anyone else put their hands on him. But Mags, he’d trust her to tend wounds that were killing him.
“All the boxes bore Burnt Amber’s mark?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’ll let Callum know once I charge my phone.”
“Yours died? Mine’s almost gone, and there’s no power here.” Since most towns had a public charging station available for use, he didn’t carry his personal unit, and they’d been using them less since he realized there was a chance that Ruark Gilbraith had hacked their network.
“We’re working on that,” the spokesman said. “Not sure how long it will be, though, if you’ve an urgent need to contact someone.”
One of the Eldritch who’d helped haul the crates asked, “What should we do if we find more of this stuff in town?”
“Burn it,” Mags said flatly, and Gavriel nodded his agreement.
Just then, his phone lit up with an incoming call, and he was astonished to see Madam Isoline’s desperate face appear on screen. Mags leaned in to listen and Gavriel let her. There was damn little he’d deny the tiger woman at this point.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sire, but I’ve got nowhere else to turn. You see, Tirael turned traitor when the princess was presumed dead. She made her move, Tirael, that is. Quite a brutal coup, it was, blood everywhere.
“The princess and wolf lord did take care of that, and I thought things had settled, even though we are on rations, but now I fear the princess has dashed off to her death—something about assassinating Lord Gilbraith—while leaving the wolf lord in charge. Maybe that would’ve been all right, except he bolted during a meeting with Commander Olwyn, and I don’t know what else to do. Please, can’t you come back?”
21.
“Holy shit,” Mags said.
Gavriel motioned her to silence with an impatient expression. “We’re some distance away, but if we travel hard, we should be there by nightfall.”
That sounded brutal. Mags could handle it, but she felt bad for Gray. Before she could speak, Gavriel made his excuses to the townsfolk and was already headed to where they’d left the vedda beast. The mount was still waiting patiently, grazing on bits of dry grass and leaves he could reach, though he did chuff a welcome when he spotted them.
The Noxblade untied the vedda beast and mounted up as Mags undressed; he caught her belongings and stowed them, then she shifted, and he set off without another word. This mindless urgency seriously pissed her off when she considered the matter properly. Earlier in the day, he was kissing Mags, but now that he’d heard that Thalia was in trouble, he was acting like his pants were on fire. She grumbled in tiger form, not that he understood or cared.
Thankfully, some of the snow had melted or she might not have been able to keep up. Gavriel didn’t pause once or even look back to check on her; he just kept nudging the animal to greater speed, whispering pleas or threats as the situation required. They ran without pausing, not for food or drink, and eventually, Mags hunted her own meal and ate it raw, then she caught up with Gavriel, who hadn’t even noticed. If she could speak, she’d cuss him out for mistreating his mount that way, but as night fell, she recognized that they were getting close. Without the detour to Kelnora, it wasn’t that far from Daruvar to the border in a straight line.
Even so, she was fucking exhausted, muscles burning, when they finally got back to the fortress. Everything seemed quiet—sentries on the walls as usual—but from what Madam Isoline had said, the situation was shitty. The guards stopped them at the gate and Gavriel shot them an imperious glare.
“You cannot fail to recognize me. Open the portal at once.”
“Apologies, S-shadow Hand,” the man stammered.
Soon, the heavy metal apparatus clanked and groaned, letting them inside. Gavriel paused in the bailey to deliver her clothes, then he raced off to do gods knew what. Thoroughly pissed, Mags shifted and groaned at the exhaustion that left her head spinning. Every part of me hurts. What a brutal run. The worst part was, she had no idea what they could even do here. They couldn’t magically retrieve Raff or teleport to wherever the princess was. Gavriel couldn’t keep calm where Thalia was concerned, and that made Mags want to punch through a wall.
She’s married to someone else, dumbass. Enough of this already.
At this point, she might kill someone for a hot shower, even with the crappy water pressure, but she wasn’t sure what room to use. One of the wolf women was still in residence, and Mags didn’t want to make small talk or explain the situation to one of Raff’s people. Hell with it.
She knew where Gavriel’s room was, and he probably wouldn’t be in it. With that in mind, she headed for his quarters, but the sound of male voices in the strategy room made her pause. Once, she would have spied without hesitation, but things felt different now, even if she was mad at Gavriel.
The Noxblade’s voice rose, sharpened. “Lileth is dead?”
“I regret to inform you that this is so. The wedding…had its complications.”
“Tell me everything,” Gavriel demanded.
Mags listened in as the other man summarized the events: a poisoning attempt on everyone at the head table, instigated by Tirael, who was secretly allied to Ruark Gilbraith. “Thanks to Prince Raff’s sharp senses, Lileth was the only casualty. A tragedy, but things could have been much worse. She left a letter for you.”
“Who did?” Gavriel asked, sounding furious and distracted.
“Lileth. She entrusted the missive to me some time ago, to be opened only in the event of her death.”
“Thank you, Olwyn. Give it to me when things settle a bit. I need to see Madam Isoline about the supplies and find out how things have been managed in my absence.”
“Understood, sire. I’ll listen to the reports of returning patrols and check the status of the minefield. You were lucky you didn’t set off any—”
“Not luck,” Gavriel cut in. “Gray is trained to avoid them.”
“That’s a fine beast. I’m going then.”
Mags slipped away, contemplating what she’d learned. What the hell was Raff doing, anyway? It sounded like things were absolute crap and he’d piked off at the worst possible moment. Oh, she’d heard gossip when she was visiting Pine Ridge, unkind rumors that he contributed nothing to pack management, and that Korin held all the real power, but she’d thought better of him. Sighing, she slipped away and found Gavriel’s room, heading straight into the shower.
Normally, she was efficient about such things, but she lingered for half an hour, scrubbing until her skin was red. There was only one towel hanging in the bathroom, and it was clean. She took a petty satisfaction in rubbing her smell all over it. Mags wouldn’t let herself think too long about why she was so irate over Gavriel’s concern for Thalia. It wasn’t like he’d made any secret of his adoration.
Between Pine Ridge, Daruvar, and roaming around with that damn Noxblade, her hair was longer than it ever had been, so she got it out of her face in a neat halo braid; it was long enough for that. There was no fire in the hearth, and the room was cold. Mags got dressed in her other set of clothes, thinking about Keriel and Leena in Kelnora. They had washed her gear, and the shirt still smelled faintly of whatever herbs they’d used, along with the smoke from the kitchen fire.
Mags slipped out then, as she didn’t want Gavriel to find her skulking around his room. A pair of workers were gossiping some distance down the hall. They thought they were being quiet, but she fell into step behind them, senses pitched to catch every word.
“You really saw Death’s Shadow hit the wolf prince?” Such an excited tone.
“Right in the face! Then he came after the wolf again, but he got slapped in the back of the head. That wolf’s a slippery one. I was scared I’d get caught spying, so I scampered then, but I imagine it’ll get messy.”
“Are they fighting over the princess?”
“Who knows?”
Now that she knew Raff was back, Mags only had to scan for his scent. It galled her to play peacemaker when they were fighting because of Thalia, who ought to damn well clean up her own messes, but Mags couldn’t let those two boneheads hurt each other. She picked up the trail and ran for the strategy room, startling the two staffers who’d alerted her to trouble a few minutes prior.
They’ll be whispering about me next.
As Mags raced into the room, she caught Gavriel going for round two, his hand on Raff’s shoulder. Part of her wanted to comfort the Noxblade, but mostly, she was furious with him, so she defended the wolf lord without even knowing what the hell was up. With any luck, it would irk Gavriel to see her taking Raff’s side.
See how it feels, asshole.
“Leave him alone, he’s trying to help your princess.” When Gavriel didn’t let go, Mags grabbed his arm and twisted. “Do we have to fight…again?”
Gavriel glared at her and uncoiled his fingers. “Don’t test me.”
“Why, do you like it or something?” She smirked, knowing damn well that he did, and he’d hate her for messing with him like this.
“Get out of my way or get a fucking room,” Raff snapped, rushing out.
When Gavriel followed, of course, Mags did too. She had no idea what Raff was doing, but she wouldn’t let Gavriel go at him, much as the Noxblade wanted to. He caught her gaze as they stepped into the hall, and she baited him with what she hoped was a sweet smile. That look should put anyone on guard.
What the hell is this woman’s problem? Gavriel’s pride stung.
He hadn’t realized how much he had come to depend upon her support, but now that they were back, she was taking the wolf’s side without even asking why Gavriel was angry. That… well, he could scarcely stop gritting his teeth over the injustice of it. He clenched a fist, wanting to hit Raff Pineda even more, and for once, it had nothing to do with the wolf’s lack of qualifications to rule alongside Princess Thalia.
In the hallway, they ran into Commander Olwyn on the way to…wherever they were going. He had a small contingent of guards with him, and Raff asked the group, “Do you know how to arm and load the drones?”
Mags nodded, but the Eldritch men offered blank looks. Raff sighed. “I’ll teach Olwyn. Mags, you show Gavriel the ropes. We need these in the air as soon as possible.”
Gavriel half-expected her to refuse, but she only nodded. “You’re striking at Braithwaite,” she guessed.
Certainly, accept his orders without question.
“Damn right I am. I’ll drop payloads on the fences. I don’t know exactly where Thalia is, but if she’s already inside, the distraction will draw forces away, and if she’s trying to get in, a breach in their defenses can only help her.”
“You’re planning to bombard a location where—” Gavriel couldn’t finish the sentence. This was typical of the wolf lord, all impulse and no logic. These weren’t his people, so why would Raff care about potential civilian casualties? “What an idiotic idea!”
“It’s the best I can do from here,” Raff said. “She left Daruvar in my care, but I’ll be damned if I leave her without backup. I can program the drones to scan for her, and if she’s nearby, I’ll abort the strike.”
“Do it,” Mags urged. “I agree with your assessment, and it seems unlikely that she can take out Ruark Gilbraith with only one Noxblade at her side.”
She’s agreeing with him again.
Gavriel caught Mags’s gaze, incredulous, wondering if she truly didn’t see how risky this notion was. After her kindness in Kelnora and Ancalen, he’d thought that she was starting to care about his people. This course of action could end in blood and tears. The tiger woman held his look, and while he still couldn’t read her that well, he did have the impression that she was angry.
Fair enough, so was he. Silently, he turned away.
The wolf lord seemed oblivious to the tension, focused on his work on the screen. “All right, new flight pattern laid in. I’ll monitor remotely from the strategy room. Payloads will deploy in five and a half hours.”
That was their cue to return to the strategy room, though Gavriel could imagine nothing he wanted to do less. Endless waiting? No concrete solutions. That was hell.
Hours passed while he paced, wishing he hadn’t asked to be excused from Princess Thalia’s service. If he had gone with her, the success of the mission would be more certain. That was no judgment on Ferith; Gavriel simply had more faith in his own skills.
At some point, Madam Isoline brought tea. He accepted the drink and leaned in when she whispered, “I’m sorry, it seems I called you back for nothing. He’d o
nly gone hunting, I gather.” She indicated Raff with a tilt of her head.
“No, it’s better that I’m here,” Gavriel said softly.
That earned him another glare from Mags. Hell if he knew why.
It irked him profoundly when Mags caught Raff’s eye and made a face over the tea. Gavriel understood she didn’t much care for it—his personal blend being the exception—but he clenched his teeth over the comradery she shared with the wolf lord. If he could build a wall around her, he might damn well do it.
I’m losing it. There was no explanation for his attitude when he should concentrate on Thalia’s situation, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Mags, couldn’t stop watching, reacting, and wanting to punch Raff Pineda.
I shouldn’t get involved. He did anyway.
“You don’t like it?” Gavriel asked Mags.
“It tastes like wet weeds.” Her candor was refreshing. Among his people, most chose to swallow their feelings and play games with one another.
For some reason, the wolf lord glared at her. “Tact can be charming. You should read up on it,” Raff said.
She chuckled. “Fuck that. Honesty is the best policy. That way nobody can ever claim they didn’t know what I’m about.”
“I’m sorry,” Madam Isoline said quietly. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Raff spoke in a gentle tone.
Did you not see that? He cares more about the chatelaine than you, his supposed friend. And yet she’d defended Pineda. Threatened Gavriel over this asshole. While he did value Isoline’s service, there was no insult in not liking a drink. What was wrong with the wolf lord anyway?
Commander Olwyn cleared his throat, fidgeting as if the tension was getting to him. “Are the drones on target?”
Before Gavriel could respond, Raff stood, heading over to the screen to check. “ETA ten minutes now. Too soon to scan for the princess specifically, but I’m not showing any humanoid life signs to the west.”
“That will be perfect as a distraction,” the commander said.