“He don’t have it, or else he’d a’given it to you,” Slaíne spat.
“Don’t mouth off at me, fool girl.” As Dewhurst entered with a lit candle in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, he looked at Aidan, who thought the man’s head might explode, it was so red. “Where are the blasted maps?”
Aidan blinked. “The Goblet maps? I gave them to you.”
“You gave me back all of my papers, but the two maps in my possession you have withheld. Where are they?”
Perplexed, Aidan closed his eyes and felt in Nothingness for paper and oilskin. There was nothing made of those materials in his cache, so he opened his eyes and shook his head. “There’s nothing there.”
Dewhurst swore and stalked closer to where Aidan was sitting. “Those are my maps. I need those maps. You will give them to me at once.”
Despite himself, Aidan’s voice rose as well. “I told you I gave you everything back. I don’t have your blasted maps.”
“Liar.” Without warning, Dewhurst turned to Slaíne and backhanded her.
“Leave her out of this,” Aidan warned.
She tumbled to the floor, and only then did she look at Aidan. Both of Slaíne’s eyes were black, and her lip had been split open.
“Are you all right?”
Slaíne nodded once and looked away, as if ashamed. She didn’t flinch as Dewhurst kicked her in the ribs.
“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Now Aidan was on his feet, preparing to Summon the silver sword and have done with this once and for all, consequences be hanged.
The two guards reached for their own iron weapons.
“It ain’t worth it, sir,” Slaíne said.
“Silence, both of you. I need to think.” Dewhurst had taken a few steps back from Aidan, whom he seemed to regret visiting. He paced back and forth, the color that had filled his face draining. “I need those maps. They’re – they’re mine. I need them.”
He’s lying. Yes, Aidan was certain of it. “Who are you holding the maps for?” Aidan asked after weighing those words carefully.
Dewhurst stopped pacing and looked at Aidan as if he were mad. “I’m not holding them for anyone, boy. Now, you obviously are lying to me about not having them. Bring them back at once, or I’ll—”
Aidan held his hands up. “Calm down, old man. I told you I don’t have the maps. I didn’t have enough time to look at all the papers and oilskins I took.”
“Bah. Nonsense.”
“Why would I lie when you’re holding so much over my head?”
That made Dewhurst pause and consider his words. He did not want to believe Aidan, Aidan knew innately. Dewhurst wanted to hate the orphan boy he had tricked into handing over his title, the boy he’d framed for murder. He hated him and his noble blood. If Dewhurst had a sword, he’d run Aidan through right now, blood and Meraude’s demands be hanged.
Aidan shook himself out of the small trance he’d just entered and looked at Dewhurst, amazed. “You’re working for Meraude.”
Only upon hearing her name did Dewhurst betray any fear in his features. Yet after a moment, he smoothed the worries out of his face and shook his head. “You are a misguided child.” How does that Ingledark brat known about Meraude? I haven’t mentioned her, nor the fact that I was supposed to aid this boy or stay out of his way.
Aidan blinked himself back into the moment, having fallen again into a trance. He opened his mouth to accuse Dewhurst, but then it occurred to him: if he could somehow get a read on Dewhurst’s thoughts and feelings, it would be best to keep the man in the dark about that fact. Aidan shut his mouth and shook the cobwebs from his brain. How could he be sure of this new ability? Where had it come from?
Dewhurst interrupted his thoughts. “Those maps are crucial to your survival – to her survival.” He gestured toward Slaíne, who now stood outside of striking distance. “I suggest you check your cache again.”
Sweat formed on Aidan’s brow, though the air down there was cool bordering on cold. What could he do to convince the man of the truth? “I don’t have the maps,” he repeated, desperation leaking into his voice.
The look Dewhurst gave him was incredulous. “Do you think me stupid? Those maps did not sprout legs and walk out. Someone took them. Who else has been in my study?”
“Maybe a servant—”
Dewhurst waved the suggestion away. “My servants are loyal to a fault. I will give you three days, Ingledark. Three days to consider all the horrible things I could do to the both of you to get the maps back. And don’t think for a second that I would hesitate to follow through.” Dewhurst and Aidan stood there for a moment, sizing each other up, before the lord turned on his heel and stormed toward the stairs.
Slaíne gave Aidan one last pitiful look before trotting off after her new master. The guards didn’t even look at him before turning and filing out after their employer.
Aidan waited until their Pulls had all but disappeared before swearing. Three days? He’d searched his cache in Nothingness thoroughly. There was nothing even remotely map-like stored there.
Something else nagged at Aidan as he lowered himself to the floor. Who did have the maps? Had Larkin stolen them before leaving Dewhurst’s estate? If so, then she had truly set Aidan up to fail and be caught, and his hopes of trusting her now were dashed entirely. He thought back to his interactions with her. On one of the last days he’d seen her, she’d found him and Slaíne in the market place in Abbington, a new Pull on her person. It had felt like paper. Perhaps….
No, Larkin wouldn’t have been so stupid as to carry the maps on her person. Besides, she would’ve had to have them sent to her in Abbington, because she most certainly didn’t have them when Aidan first ran into her there. Unless she had them hidden somewhere…. No, someone else had taken the maps.
What did I get out of the vault? Aidan mused. It had looked like a map. But it couldn’t have been, if Dewhurst was honest and hadn’t recovered the map from the papers Aidan had stolen. Maybe Aidan’s stash in Nothingness was compromised somehow. “Nothingness.” Aidan sat upright as an ancient, gnarled voice came to mind. “I held on to the maps. Lot of good they’ll do ya now….”
He’d thought that Treevain’s voice in his head had been a hallucination brought on by stress, and the same with the woman who had claimed to be his aunt. Perhaps they’d been real. Aidan rested his head in his hands, racking his brain for other indications that this might be true.
The images and visions had been silent since he’d been imprisoned the previous week. They had changed in quality and quantity since the nymph had stabbed him in the shoulder with the ice blade. As he thought of the wound, Aidan rubbed it absently, though it did nothing more than give a tiny throb. “That must be it. They have to be connected. All of it.”
He thought some more. The elves said they were dead. Maybe they are. Maybe I can talk with the dead because of the blade wound. Aidan shook his head. If that were true, why would he have just seen those hideous creatures instead of someone that had meant something to him? Maybe not any sort of dead person, he mused, thinking more clearly than he had in weeks, despite the iron. But what sort? They must all have a common denominator. Aidan felt he had most, if not all of the pieces to this puzzle, but they were all gray sky with no breaks in the pattern.
Fatigue overcame him, but still he sat and tried to puzzle out his muddled thoughts.
Soon after, the scullery maid brought down Aidan’s afternoon meal – a cold potato and a dried-out slab of salmon, and a gulp of vinegar wine in a dented tin cup. She stood watching him as she always did, making certain he didn’t squirrel away any scraps of food anywhere. When he finished, she took the tray, and he thanked her as was his habit.
The maid paused on her way back to the steps, and for the first time, he heard her speak. “You know,” she said, “you’re the only one in this household that thanks me for
anything. Why?”
Aidan didn’t answer, but shrugged.
She laughed but grew silent and thoughtful a moment before speaking again. “I could get whipped for this, but I have a feeling you won’t tell.”
Aidan tried not to look too eager, but nodded all the same.
With a sigh, the maid crept back over and said in a lowered voice, “Not everyone here likes his lordship. You might find some allies in the village.” She made a face as she said this, probably realizing that he had no way of getting in touch with anyone outside of that room. Or perhaps she’d caught a whiff of his stink, as he’d been down there long enough without a bath to be offensive.
“Thank you,” he said again, drawing a smile from the maid.
She seemed torn for a moment, obviously weighing her words before committing them to the air. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know – and don’t you thank me again just now.” They shared a laugh, though Aidan’s was more relieved than amused. Manners had never come easy to him.
Aidan felt a human Pull pause overhead and he pointed at the ceiling and mouthed, “Listening.”
She nodded and shouted for the listener’s benefit, “And there’s more where that came from,” perhaps a bit too dramatically, before winking and then fake-storming up the stairs.
When she left, Aidan sat back, his thoughts more scattered than before.
Chapter Sixteen
Aidan was asleep when they came for him that evening. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it wasn’t a surprise, considering all his body was putting up with. The men wore masks, and the atmosphere around them was charged and excited as the first fist connected with his jaw.
Aidan rubbed where the knuckles had struck, knowing it had been a practice tap, to see how he would react. “What do you want?” he asked, rising to a sitting position as the figures retreated a few steps.
No one responded at first, but brown and blue eyes stared at him from beneath the masks, four sets, all jittery and drunk on some emotion.
“Is there a leader among you?” Aidan studied their appearances as well as their Pulls. Three Pulls belonged to Dewhurst’s soldiers, and one was a servant’s. He stared straight into those eyes and saw no wavering and no pity there. “If you’re going to beat me senseless, I’d at least like to know there’s some order behind it.”
“Y-you dare speak to us, you fey scum,” the servant, the tallest among them, demanded.
Aidan laughed without mirth. “So, that’s what Dewhurst is telling you I am?”
“Don’t contradict your master,” the same man spat.
“Are we going to do this or not?” whined one of the guards, coming at Aidan. He made to kick him, but Aidan grabbed his leg and twisted it, causing the man to fall to the ground. The first thing he had learned from his uncle: never underestimate someone who looks feeble and beaten. But he knew they would not make that mistake again.
Aidan hadn’t a moment’s respite before the others sprang at him. He was strong, but did not possess the strength of four men even when he wasn’t half-starved and bled, so they managed to pin him down.
“Oh, this is fair,” Aidan snapped. “Four against one? Cowards.”
That earned him a real punch to the eye this time. The man on his chest raised his fist again, his eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. “Let go, J—” The servant stopped himself from finishing the name.
Aidan grunted. “You’re not here on Dewhurst’s orders?” His eye throbbed painfully and was already starting to swell shut.
“You breathe a word of this to anyone, and we’ll kill your sweetheart.” The servant and the younger guard laughed, before the other two hissed at them to shut up. “All right, all right,” said the servant, lowering his voice as the young guard snickered. “You tell anyone, fey, or make a sound as we proceed, and your redheaded witch’ll find herself hanging.”
Before Aidan could reason with them, they started in. They beat him with fists, making sure to keep his face untouched besides the lone bruised eye, evidence of their handiwork. Aidan struggled against them in vain. But they were not long into the beating when Aidan felt a tug in his gut that had little to do with the wind being knocked out of him. Slaíne. He groaned silently. Stay with your new master. What was she thinking, risking the curse’s wrath?
His shoulder burned with icy pain before Slaíne even made it to the first step. With strength that could not be his own, he threw the four men from his prone form, and they lay scattered and bewildered. Just as quickly as the burst of power had come over him, it left.
Slaíne hadn’t paused in her approach, a frying pan brandished high. The sight would have made Aidan laugh, had she not brought it down with force on one of the men’s shoulders. There was a resounding crack, and Aidan knew she had shattered the man’s bones. “Out,” she barked over the injured man’s cries.
One stood up to her, reaching for a dirk, but his comrade put a hand on his arm and spoke to him in a low voice as another guard came to the injured servant’s aid. Without another word, the four fled up the stairs, not bothering to muffle their footsteps.
Slaíne’s wild eyes took in Aidan, and she dropped the pan but did not move, as if frightened of him. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry I could nay get here sooner.”
“How did you know anything about this?” Aidan managed to grind out. His voice seemed to snap her out of whatever apprehension she might be feeling, and she approached.
“One of those guards warned me. I read his note too late, I see.”
Now Aidan did chuckle, only to stop at once and wince. “Not too late. I’m not yet dead, as you can see.”
His attempt at humor fell flat with her, and she scowled. “Lot o’ good I been to you.” She sniffed, and leaned over him. Her eyes took in his face and she nodded. “Right.” And without explanation of what she was up to, the strange girl pulled a paring knife out of her bodice and ripped the remainder of his shirt away.
“What are you….” He grew silent as her fingers whispered across his bare flesh, tracing purple bruises that had already blossomed on his chest, before probing for broken bones. It would have been more painful, had her Pull not been so comforting and familiar…and had her touch not felt so inviting. He focused on that as she traced lower and lower, and then back up again. His breathing grew ragged, and as hers did not, he guessed she thought the groan he let out was born of pain.
“Nothing’s broken,” she said after a moment. She eyed him askance but did not question why he was looking at her like he knew he was looking at her.
“How did you manage getting down here?” he asked, willing his blood to cool. This was no time to be thinking amorous thoughts that scared even him.
Slaíne looked at him like he had suffered a concussion and even put a hand on his brow. “I took the stairs.”
Again Aidan laughed, and again he groaned. “I meant the curse. Did you break the curse? Is that how you were able to leave Dewhurst and come down…here? What?” She was blushing and looked sadder than he had ever seen her.
“It’s attached back on you.”
Aidan blinked. “What? How?”
“Never mind that. I need to plot, and you need to rest.” She took the hole-riddled blanket at his feet and covered him up.
“I’ve slept enough.”
She let loose a dark chuckle and shook her head. “I doubt that, somehow.”
Despite her command to lie back down, Aidan eased himself to a sitting position, though his body protested. He had not been in the presence of anyone whom he knew he could trust for too long to sleep through it. “Are you all right?” His muscles screamed at him as he reached out and touched her face, the bruises that had yellowed. To his surprise, she did not pull away but watched him.
“Gets beaten and asks if I’m all right.” Her voice was thick as he leaned in.
He licked his lips. “They hardly touched me.” Sense and pretenses be hanged. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d been gripped by her Pull, and perhaps it was fear of what was to come that made him desperate for her, but he didn’t care. Aidan tilted her head to the side and pressed his lips to her throat.
Slaíne shuddered, but didn’t object as he kissed his way up to her mouth, then pressed his tongue against the line of her lips. Her lips parted and the breath rushed out of her as he kissed her like this was the last time he’d ever see her. All of his pain disappeared as he poured all of his passion, fear, and hope into that tiny mouth. His hands were rough with Slaíne as they seized her waist and drew her closer, her Pull maddeningly strong. She was all but in his lap, and blood thundered in his ears as her hands pressed against his chest.
With a gasp she pulled out of the kiss and watched him, wide-eyed. He did not release her waist, and she did not try to pull away, to his relief. “Sir….” Whatever she was going to say, it seemed she lost the courage to say it. She changed the subject. “Why haven’t you used the sword yet?” she whispered. “You could have been free days ago.”
Aidan shook his head, ignoring the flash of pain that rippled down his neck. “And leave you here?”
She squirmed. Her voice was barely audible as she said, “Then it’s my fault.”
“Slaíne, even if I could have managed to get my hands on the key to my bonds, I would have numerous guards to contend with. And say I got past them. I am too weak right now to run far and maintain the speed needed. You are not to be blamed.”
Slaíne worried her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his gaze now. Her hands slipped down into her lap. “So it’s hopeless?”
Aidan shook his head but cringed, a moment that did not go unnoticed by Slaíne.
“They beat ya harder than you’re tellin’.”
“I don’t feel any pain.” It was true. The only thing that hurt was his head, and that was the only part of him that wasn’t so close to Slaíne. Maybe her powers came with some healing ability that she had failed to mention to him.
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