by T. A. White
Tate grunted, not sure she agreed with that decision. The dragon was hurting, but he was still a valuable ally.
"Looking for something?" Tate drawled when Roslyn still hadn't settled.
"I'm making sure we're alone," Roslyn said, walking back into the room from the tiled bathroom, which had a tub that could easily fit four or five people in it.
"I see," Tate said, shooting a Ryu a look.
He exhaled through his nose, his gaze turning distant for several long seconds.
"No one is close," Ryu finally said.
"Are you sure?" Roslyn asked.
"My senses, while not quite as good as Night's, are better than the average human's. I would know if someone was trying to listen in on us," Ryu said, his voice filled with quiet certainty.
Roslyn settled, relief present as she took the drink Tate handed her.
"What's with the all the cloak and dagger?" Tate asked, picking up her own drink and taking a sip. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, the slightly sour and sweet taste of the alcohol a surprise. She wasn't sure she liked it.
"I think I know who was responsible for the explosion," Roslyn said, gulping down half her drink seconds later. She lowered the glass with a grimace. "That is truly awful."
"Indeed, it is," Tate said, risking another tiny sip before setting the drink down with a grimace. Yeah, there was no way she was getting through a full glass of that.
Ryu took his and sniffed before testing the liquor. “It’s xeira, a popular nightcap among the Silva. It has known properties for relaxing the mind and body in preparation for sleep. The taste does take some getting used to.”
He could say that again. She didn’t care how much it might help her sleep. The taste was horrendous.
Ryu leaned forward, his expression grave. "Tell us what you know."
Roslyn was back to fidgeting as Tate and Ryu waited expectantly. "You know my father's business has had extensive dealings in Silvain."
Tate bit down on her impatience. She was tired and wanted to go to bed.
"It's why we invited you," Tate said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. She’d been up for hours at this point since dinner had gone late into the night.
"Yes, well, he made sure my studies included all aspects of Silva society in preparation for the day I took my position as head of the family. That included all of the major power players." Roslyn paused, her expression uncertain before her lips firmed. "I think I know the group behind the masks."
"Don't leave us in suspense," Tate ordered. "Out with it."
"They're the Morain," she blurted out.
Ryu sucked in a harsh breath.
Tate considered Ryu. "You know them."
He nodded slowly. "I’m familiar with their founder. I was friends with many of the first generation."
"What are they?" Tate asked.
"They think of themselves as the hidden protectors of the Silva," Roslyn volunteered.
Ryu was slow to speak, choosing his words carefully. "Their founder believed the Silva would always need a secret branch who operated from the shadows. Their purpose is to protect the Silva, but they usually act in territories where the Silva are a minority. Being called on to act in their own homeland would be a rarity."
"Hiding your identity while you strike from the shadows isn't exactly noble," Tate pointed out.
Ryu toyed with his drink, his expression distracted. "You have to consider the era. The Silva's position has always been somewhat unstable. The masks are meant to protect them from retaliation. They were meant to be symbols, the masks passed down as members retired."
There was a slight edge of nostalgia in his voice.
"Would they have done something like this?" Tate asked.
He hesitated. "When I knew them, they wouldn't have attacked without cause."
"And now?"
"Time has a way of eroding and reshaping even mountains."
"What else do we know about them?" Tate asked.
"They're said to worship Jaxon Kuno," Roslyn said. "My father was convinced our family legends pointed to our ancestor spending his last years here. He said Jaxon had hidden his greatest work in Sylvain, and entrusted its locations to very few. The Morain were supposedly the protectors of that secret."
Somehow things just kept circling back to Jaxon. Almost with an alarming frequency.
"It's one of the reasons the Silva continue to do business with our family, when many other humans have been treated as outsiders." Roslyn's attention turned to Ryu. "But you know this. I suspect that is the other half of why I’m on this expedition."
Ryu didn't blink or move as he considered Roslyn.
"Your connections might prove useful," Ryu admitted at last when the silence grew long.
"I've renounced my family name," Roslyn said with a reproachful frown.
His lips twitched. "But you’re still of the Kuno line. They won't care about anything else."
"You sneaky dragon," Tate said, looking over at him in surprise.
She should have known there was more than one reason for why he'd brought Roslyn along. Ryu never did anything by half measures and he often had more than a single reason for his actions.
She'd forgotten that, allowing herself to become comfortable with him—to see him as friend and possible lover—while forgetting the manipulative dragon at his core. She'd do well to remember this lesson.
Ryu tipped his chin down, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as if he guessed the line of her thoughts.
Tate tapped her glass as she thought.
"There's one other thing." Roslyn lifted her eyes to Tate's. "I don’t know how it used to be, but it’s now said they are the Harridan’s most effective tool. They get their orders directly from her.”
"Crap," Tate breathed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Another yawn cracked Tate's jaw as she considered the ramifications of what Roslyn had suggested. Roslyn mirrored her, a loud yawn escaping from behind her hand.
It seemed Tate wasn't the only one exhausted from the day.
"It would be hard to prove such an accusation," Ryu said. "It’s common knowledge the Morain use masks. Someone could be trying to take advantage of their anonymity to commit acts in their name. Such a move could be aimed at further weakening the Harridan's position. An assumption at this point would be foolhardy."
None of them wanted Roslyn's theory to be correct. They were heading to a city where the Harridan held full control. If she was behind this, the likelihood of them surviving this trip was small.
"There are several people in our own party who would be more than happy to cast doubt and suspicion on the Silva,” Tate said.
James and Ward would have known enough about the travel arrangements to plan something like this.
"I'm disturbed by Gabriella’s reaction as well. She didn’t want us investigating the attack," Ryu said. "It points to further unrest."
Tate made a hmm sound. "Do you think they're trying to quiet whispers of a rebellion?"
Ryu's frown was fierce. "It would make sense for them to try to prevent such rumblings from reaching the Emperor's ears. He is responsible for peace in the empire. If he knew of unrest, he could deploy his armies and take control of the situation, something no Silva is likely to welcome."
"Basically, you’re saying we can't trust anyone," Tate said.
His grim expression was all the confirmation she needed.
That was just great.
They were smack-dab in the middle of a situation with all the makings of a civil war, with no clue who was on their side; in all likelihood, their traveling companions were actively plotting against them.
A loud yawn escaped Roslyn. Tate slapped her hand over her mouth to keep her own yawn inside.
"Whatever the case, we're not going to resolve it tonight. You both look like you could use some rest," Ryu said. Tate wasn’t sure if that was for their benefit or his, since he looked just as tired.
"You're right. Let's finish this tomorrow.
" She knew she was missing something important in all this. Rest might help her figure out what it was.
Roslyn rose without complaint, making her way tiredly to the door.
Ryu had propped his head up on one fist, his eyes already closed.
"You too, Ryu."
"I should stay here tonight. Keep an eye on things, if there truly are enemies about."
She snorted. "Nice try, but I'm not that tired."
Ryu lumbered to his feet without complaint. He headed to the door and opened it before pausing. "This isn't exactly how I saw the evening ending."
Tate followed, propping herself up against the doorframe before allowing her head to rest against it. She touched his chest and smirked, the expression sly, with the faintest edge of challenge. "And what exactly were you hoping for, dragon man?"
He leaned closer, the exhaustion fading, his eyes dark and hungry. "Something a little more stimulating."
A wide yawn ruined the seduction attempt.
Tate burst out laughing as he gave her a sheepish smile.
"Maybe another time," Tate said. "Night, Ryuji."
"Good night." He paused. "Allegra."
The sound of her middle name on his lips produced a heady thrill. He was the only one who called her that. One of the few who even knew her real name. It felt more intimate somehow than anything he'd done before. Passion was one thing. It could flicker and die in the blink of an eye, sputter out with little thought or regard unless tended carefully.
True intimacy was more than that. Its foundation depended on trust and was so much harder to create. Its bindings formed ties that would far outlast any transient pleasure.
Tate glanced up at him from underneath her eyelashes. He knew exactly what he was doing when he called her that. His lips twisted as he gave her an unrepentant grin.
Tricky, tricky, dragon man.
Tate used one finger to push him out of her doorway before closing the door in his face. She ignored his warm chuckle and the part of her begging her to linger.
Tate stiffened, realizing she was no longer alone in her room.
Someone waited behind her.
She remained still, one hand on the doorframe as she reached for Ilith. The dragon remained lethargic and unconcerned from where she snoozed across Tate's upper back.
The smell of the sea, followed by the rasp of a boot scuffing in front of the chair Roslyn had just been sitting in, reached her.
"Blade. This is becoming a habit.” Tate dropped her hand from the door as she faced him.
The assassin sat in Roslyn’s chair as he twirled a dagger between his fingers and glanced around with interest.
“What are you doing here? I thought you parted ways with us at the ship.”
“So had I,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t be staying long. My own interests will require my attention shortly.”
Tate remained where she was as she regarded him cautiously. It was never good when an assassin took an interest in you, less so when they decided your living space presented an interesting challenge to invade.
Tate's shoulders relaxed as she moved across the room toward him.
She didn't bother pouring him a drink. He wasn't going to be here long and people who invited themselves into her room didn't deserve to be treated as guests.
"Did she tell you about the Morain?" he asked idly, picking up one of the drinks still on the table and sniffing it. His expression was thoughtful as he swirled the liquid around.
Tate threw up her hands as she flopped down into her seat. "Does everyone know who these people are?"
"Not everyone," he said, relaxing back into the chair.
Tate didn't let his posture fool her. He might appear relaxed and bored, but it was a facade meant to lull the unwary into underestimating him. He had a killer's reflexes, and she had no doubt there were several blades hidden across his body.
"Most have never heard of the Morain. They like it better that way," he said.
"How do you know about them?"
He lifted one shoulder. "Criminals tend to get word of each other, if only to prevent us from straying into each other’s territory. Also, a few Silva pass through the Lucius's court every now and then."
Tate lifted an eyebrow.
He smiled. "We don't often get Silva in our ranks. Not for lack of trying on our part. Their skills would fit well in the Night Courts, but they tend to prefer their own clans. The few loners we get, rarely stay in one place for long."
"They're not the only ones who prefer their own kind, I've noticed." All of the species had that in common.
Blade's smile hinted at a trace of bitterness. "No, they're not. The Night Court has always been a place for those who don't quite fit—especially for those of us who are forced to stick to the fringes, a foot in both worlds yet truly a part of neither."
"Heir to the best of both. And the worst."
"Do you really believe that?" he asked.
She cracked her eyes open after they'd fallen shut without her noticing. "Of course. No path forward is better than the next. Every split has its difficulties. Your situation is no different. Being on the periphery gives you a certain perspective and a freedom you wouldn't have otherwise."
Blade's expression was thoughtful as he stared into the glass again.
"Why did you come?" Tate asked.
Blade was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant as he stared out the veranda doors, the curtains rustling in the breeze.
Tate thought he wasn't going to answer and let the drowsiness claim a little more of her.
"Your Roslyn turned her back on everything she ever knew," he finally said in a voice so soft she had to strain to hear him. "She turned her back on the easy and the comfortable, for the unknown."
That was all true.
He lifted a shoulder. "I know what that's like."
Tate opened her eyes fully. "You empathize with her."
His silence was answer enough. She wasn’t sure how much of his confession to believe. He was a thief and a liar. An assassin whose leash was held by men Tate didn’t trust. All trades had a commonality—deception was second nature.
Blade stood, making his way back over to the veranda.
"She's not alone, you know," Tate said suddenly.
Blade stopped, as he fixed her with an inscrutable look.
Tate scratched her eyebrow, uncomfortable. This probably wasn't the best thing to say, especially this next part, but it had to be said.
"There are people who will stand with her." It was both a warning and a reassurance.
He didn’t respond as he disappeared onto the balcony.
Tate remained where she was for several minutes before sighing. The assassin always made her a touch uncomfortable. She never forgot he was dangerous.
She didn’t know what had brought him here, but she hoped it wouldn’t interfere with her mission. She didn’t want Blade as an enemy.
Unable to unravel the complex mystery behind Blade’s motivations without more evidence, Tate turned her attention to other matters. As much as her body begged for sleep, she needed to check on Dewdrop and see if Night had returned. He might have important information.
Tate pushed against the chair arms in an effort to stand. She listed to the side instead, sagging to the floor. Her eyelids drooped and every muscle in her body went slack as the need for sleep overwhelmed her.
She'd been drugged, she realized. The expected adrenaline surge at that knowledge wasn't enough to fight the tide of drowsiness. She drifted on a cloud, too comfortable and tired to fight back.
The vague sense she was no longer alone in the room tried to rouse her momentarily before she sank ever deeper into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw through drooping eyelids were several figures appearing out of the darkness, strange white and red animal masks over their faces as they reached for her.
*
A crick in her neck and the pressing need to use the bathroom summoned Tate from a
deep sleep. She lifted her head and stared blearily down at her pillow. What in the Saviors’ name had happened last night?
Her mouth tasted like the inside of a toilet, and her head pounded like she'd gone on a three-day bender. She didn't know what had inspired the series of awful choices leading her to this point, but she never wanted to repeat them.
She gradually became aware of the room around her, dank and dreary. Nothing like the luxurious room she remembered. The stale smell of air shut in a space for too long greeted her as she rolled onto her back, finding hard floor instead of the feather mattress she'd been anticipating.
"Definitely not my room," Tate muttered.
How did she get here?
She raised her head enough to take in the fact she was in a small, windowless cell only a few feet longer than her body. It was narrow and cramped, and if she hadn't felt like the inside of a back alley, she might have felt a hint of claustrophobia. As it was, she’d barely registered the details before the door unlatched and a figure appeared.
Tate flinched away from the bright light behind the person. Her thoughts still sluggish and disoriented.
The person crossed the room in the next moment, jerking her upright and holding a sweet-smelling rag over her nose and mouth. Any thought of struggling disappeared as the drug in the cloth spread through her body, her thoughts becoming as soft and insubstantial as a cloud. They frolicked and cartwheeled, floating out of her grasp every time she reached for them.
She was vaguely aware of her arms being jerked behind her; seconds later rope was wrapped around her wrists. She idly noted an odd fox mask blocking her captor’s features, the only discernible feature hair puffing wildly from behind the mask. The person was slim and lean with the sort of frame that showed they spent hours in the training yard.
"Who are you?" Tate slurred.
The person paused, their mask jerking as they glanced up at her. She blinked at the emotionless expression of the fox mask and wondered about the person behind it.
Her captor fumbled for the drugged cloth, slapping it over her nose and mouth. Tate's eyes fluttered as she slumped forward, leaving them to finish tying her hands.
Finished, the person wasted no time lifting her to her feet, supporting the majority of her weight as they left the cell.