by Bec McMaster
“You want to help?” I throw over my shoulder as I head toward the door. “Then keep Belladonna distracted for the afternoon. Just don’t kill her.”
“How in the cauldron’s name am I supposed to keep her occupied?” he growls behind me.
“I don’t know,” I call back. “Maybe you can show her your big scaly tail and see if she’s impressed.”
10
Boldness is the order of the day.
I spend the morning searching for certain herbs in the kitchens, blaming it on my moon courses—but what I ask for is foxglove and a four-leaf clover, and a flower spike from the lords-and-ladies plant. The clover is the giveaway. It tells the servants I want a charm, and they direct me to one of the towers that curls out of the mountain slopes.
Inside is the Ragwort Man. He’s a tiny brownie with brown-stained teeth and by all accounts serves as the apothecary here in the court. “Foxglove, you say? And lords-and-ladies?” he asks, as I press him for the clover. “That sounds like a nasty bit of charmwork to me.”
“It’s not real,” I tell him with a smile, as I examine the glass bottles and small tinctures on his shelves. For a brownie with good intentions, he certainly has a decent assortment of poisons, including a single ruby-red drop of miroire oil carefully sealed in a glass bottle. He’s sealed the bottle with lead too, which tells me he knows just how dangerous it is. Someone knows his trade. “It’s just a game we ladies play…. I want to deliver a message to one of my rivals.”
Arching a tufted brown brow, he produces the ingredients I ask for. “If anyone ingests that foxglove—”
“It’s not meant to be ingested,” I tell him. “I plan to tie it all up in a little satchel of black velvet, and leave it in the bed hangings of my rival. They say it brings misfortune and bad dreams.”
“Aye, that it does.”
“And if she finds it, then she’ll know to keep her hands off my prince.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ve had three young ladies in here this week, looking for medicinals.”
“Three?”
“Best check under your bed,” he says through a nasty little smile.
“Oh, I always do.” I toy with a ring on my finger. The door is closed, but I make a great mimicry of checking it is latched. “Perhaps you can help me with something else…. Do you know if any of the servants have any abilities with natural remedies? One of the kitchen hands said there was a woman here….”
“Remedies to what?”
“The usual sort of feminine problems.” Which could be anything from avoiding an unwanted child, to removing a rival. Permanently.
The brownie pauses to polish his spectacles. “There was a young woman working here for a few weeks who had some interest in such remedies, but it appears she’s moved on.”
“Moved on?”
“Her name was Violet.” He puts his spectacles back on and peers over the top of them at me. “Took up with a fancy lord, I was told. Seems she preferred silk sheets to scrubbing her mistress’s floors.”
Violet. There you are, dear sister. Cultivating the same habits as usual. Soraya prefers not to carry her own poisons with her—it’s too easy to be searched. But most courts have an apothecary and I’ve never met one she hasn’t charmed.
It was an educated guess.
And it tells me more than he knows.
Violet is the persona Soraya uses when she wants to play the slightly mysterious maid. The fact she was offering hints that she might be able to assist in certain feminine complications means she was trying to get close to one of the ladies of the court.
She ingratiated herself as Anissa’s maid.
But was her target female?
Or was it this lord who she’s allegedly run off with?
I slide the ring off my finger. “Which lord? I might have use of her….”
The Ragwort Man eyes the ring. “Can’t say I remember.”
Placing my palm flat on the table I slide it toward him. “I would very much like to talk to her.”
His mouth works, as if he’s fighting against his instincts. And then he scowls. “Keep your baubles, my lady. Violet’s gone. As I said, she caught the eye of a fancy lord. I ain’t seen her since.”
“And there’s no one else?”
“None,” he says curtly.
“Maybe I’ll just leave this here,” I tell him, lifting my hand off the ring. “And if you think of someone, you come find me.”
He grunts inconclusively, but makes short work of wrapping up my herbs and then practically pushes me out through his door.
Interesting.
I let the glamor I’m wearing dissolve, sidestep into the shadows, and then settle down to wait. The ill-fitting gown I stole does me few favors—it’s too tight through the hip and bodice, meant for a frame smaller than mine—and I can’t wait to return it.
The ring, however, is lost forever.
Good thing the lady of the Dawn Court doesn’t need it. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know I’ve managed another strike against Rhea.
But first, let’s see where this little tidbit takes me….
It takes him barely five minutes.
Peering out, the Ragwort Man sees the tower steps are clear and then bustles out, locking his door behind him.
I follow him down the stairs, lingering in every pool of shadow and listening to him mutter under his breath.
The sun’s still high in the sky as he crosses the courtyard, which gives me plenty of shadows to hide in, but avoiding the stream of servants scurrying about their daily business requires all my concentration.
Every step we take leads us further into the court and tightens the tension in my chest.
We’re heading directly into the private wing of the royal family.
There’s a small study just past the first ring of guards, and the Ragwort Man knocks brusquely.
“What is it?” calls the fox-faced fae sitting at the desk. He doesn’t bother to lift his head from his correspondence, but his dark red doublet has the Court of Blood’s insignia upon its breast, and there’s an enormous set of keys resting beside his inkwell.
“Might be nothing,” the Ragwort Man tells the seneschal, “but one of the ladies here for the wedding’s been asking about Violet. Maybe you ought to mention it to Himself?”
The seneschal’s disdain clears sharply as he looks up. “Which one?”
The Ragwort Man shrugs. “Said her name was Rhea.” He flicks the ring at the seneschal. “And she gave me this as payment to find her.”
My heart leaps all over the place as I hurry down the back stairs onto the enormous lawns that stretch before the court. Brushing out my pink skirts, I pluck the pins from my hair and rearrange my tightly coiled curls down my back in loose waves. I ditched the other dress in one of the kitchen ovens, and dropped Rhea’s rings down a well. My own gown was neatly wrapped and stowed away in a linen closet. And now I’m late for lunch by ten minutes. I promised Keir I’d meet him here at twelve O’clock, and yet I didn’t dare rush away after the Ragwort Man disappeared, leaving the seneschal staring after him.
The Ragwort Man went straight to the head of the servants. He knew “Violet” hadn’t disappeared, which means he knows who took her.
And what does “Himself” mean? Even I heard the importance of the way he said the word.
I have this horrible suspicion I know exactly who took Soraya.
But why?
Lunch is being served on the lawns as I search for Keir, and several ladies appear to be trying their hands at croquet.
Just my luck, the lady of the Dawn Court spots me as I circle the green.
“Tell me,” Rhea taunts as she aims the ball in my direction and steadies her mallet, “where have you been scurrying about, little mouse? You ought to be careful that someone doesn’t steal your prince while your back is turned.”
She hammers the ball toward me.
Instinct takes over. I slap it away with a sharp chop
of the hand, and then belatedly squeal and throw my arms up like some lily-livered maid.
Glass smashes.
“Hey!” someone shouts.
By the time I peer over my arms, the Duke of Whitehaven is lowering a shattered wine glass and gaping at it.
All eyes turn upon me.
I turn my stare upon Rhea, but she’s somehow been absorbed back into the crowd of ladies with mallets.
One of them is Ismena, and as our eyes meet across the green, I almost take a step back at the look of malevolence she shoots my way.
Seeing her unnerves me, as always. She can’t suspect I’m the one who stole her brother’s trident. She’d have said something by now. Wouldn’t she?
But why is she keeping company with Rhea?
“Merisel. There you are.” Keir appears out of nowhere, capturing my upper arm. His lips compress tightly over his teeth. “My apologies, Your Grace. She’s a little clumsy at times.”
The duke’s ire softens when he sees who’s with me. “Apology granted, Your Highness. Though I’ll expect to ride with you this afternoon. You can make it up to me.”
“Of course,” Keir says and extracts us with polite nods. “This way. We’re dining over here.”
A smile here. A nod there. It’s easier to maintain my composure in the smaller gatherings. Right now, it feels like the eyes of the entire court are upon us.
And it makes me nervous.
“A little clumsy?” I hiss, the second we have some distance between us and the duke.
“Where have you been?” Keir practically drags me across the lawn. Tension vibrates through his hard frame. “You’re late.”
“Doing a little fishing.”
“And?”
“It appears I caught a shark.” I can’t keep the grimace off my face.
He drags me beneath one of the gardens stone follies. Everybody can see us and from this distance it probably looks like we’re arguing. Perfect.
“Who? What?”
“I think I know who took Soraya,” I blurt, and then tell him everything. “If the seneschal is covering it up, then he has to be obeying Malechus’s instructions. But why would the Prince of the Blood Court kidnap my sister? How does the seneschal know?”
“You don’t think Malechus found her out?”
“Unless she made her move on her target and was caught….” I think about the rumpled sheets, the blood…. “No. She hadn’t made her move yet. She wouldn’t have returned to the room. She wouldn’t have left her locket in the room…. When she strikes, she’s always packed those belongings she wants to keep and spirited them away. She grabs them, runs, and she’s never seen again.”
Keir brushes a long pale curl behind my shoulder. He tugs at the chain around my throat, and the locket that’s hidden beneath my bodice spills free.
A crescent moon and three stars.
Soraya’s locket.
I hastily stuff it back inside my dress. I found it in my trunk along with all the other jewelry he’s had commissioned for me, but something made me put it on today. “I’m just keeping it safe for her.”
The amber heat in his eyes flares a myriad of colors. “Sometimes I don’t understand the relationship between the two of you.”
“That makes two of us,” I grumble, but he lets me tuck it away.
I hate the way he looks at me as if he sees right through me.
Grabbing a fistful of pretty pink skirts, I pace to the edge of the folly. “Malechus has to be our chief suspect. But what would he have done with her?”
“Dungeons?”
“I checked,” I admit. “It’s why I was late.”
“His rooms?”
“All feature glass windows,” I reply. “I wafted past them the second night and saw His Highness in bed with a blonde. He doesn’t have Soraya stashed beneath his bed.”
“She’s not dead,” he points out.
“Then why did he take her? What purpose does she serve?”
“Maybe she was discovered,” Keir points out, “and Malechus seeks to learn who sent her?”
Plausible. But again, there’s been no sign of her in any of the cellars I’ve found. All the usual places are devoid of stubborn wraiths.
“We know who took her,” Keir says with more gentleness than I’d expect. “We know the horn is in the maze. We just have to find the both of them.”
“What happens if the horn’s the easiest object to find?” And there it is. The question I’ve been trying not to think about.
Our eyes meet.
“I’m fairly certain if you find the horn first,” he drawls, “I’m not going to know about it until after you’ve rescued your sister.”
I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around me. Guilty. I shrug. “I’m the only one she has to watch her back.”
His voice roughens. “Would she do the same?”
I hate the fact I don’t have an answer to that question.
Keir sighs. “I’m trying to decide if I care. She did try to kill me.”
“If Soraya truly wanted to kill you, then you would be dead,” I point out.
“Not unless she knew what I was.” Keir captures a handful of my skirt, glancing down as he fingers the fine silk, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not so easy to kill Mira. And if someone didn’t know what I was and caught me by surprise well… they’d only do it once.” He takes another step, his thighs pressing against my skirts. Slowly, his gaze lifts to mine. His voice is a dangerous thing. It whispers inside me, like the velvet stroke of a glove beneath my skin. “The only way someone gets a shot at me is if you told them the truth.”
Little lightning sparks shiver down my spine. The wall of the folly is against my back. Nearly seven foot of repressed dragon is staring down at me, his eyes gleaming like a shark’s. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere that won’t out me as surely as if I suddenly flashed into being right in the middle of the lawn. Even from here, I can tell there are eyes upon us. Somehow, we’ve become the talk of the court, which was precisely what I’d hoped to avoid, and no doubt half the party is dying to know what he’s saying to me.
The dress clasps around my ribs. It was one of the few I could wriggle into without assistance, but it’s so tight that every breath betrays me. He notices too, his attention drawn down to the deep dip of the bodice in an utterly male fashion.
Stalemate.
“I haven’t told anyone you’re a dragon.” I hate the way he looks at me like that. “I wouldn’t.”
Instantly, the sounds from the garden vanish as if he’s warded us within an impenetrable bubble. All the better to keep our secrets. “I have to admit that I wondered whether you would or not.”
That earns him a glare. But to do so means I have to look up into his eyes. He’s so close I could touch him. So close I could kiss him. But fury itches through me. Is this truly what he thinks of me? That I would betray him like this?
“Is that why you didn’t insist I keep my mouth shut about our pact? You were testing me?” It never made sense.
Heat flares to life in his eyes. “Maybe.”
If he’s thrown down the gauntlet, then I don’t hesitate to pick it up. I poke a sharp nail into his chest. “I may have a sliding scale of morals in regards to the ownership of certain items, but I wouldn’t tell someone such an important secret. If the fae of these lands knew the truth, you would have no rest. Regardless of your intentions, all they would see would be war.”
The dragon kings were too powerful. Ancient spirits who were blessed into being by the goddess. In this world, where every fae prince measures his importance by the size of his dick, knowing there was a dragon out there would be so humbling they wouldn’t be able to abide by his sheer existence.
“You were protecting me,” he says.
“War is bad for business….”
“Horseshit. It’s the perfect time for a thief to reign. And your king would like nothing better than to cast the Blessed courts into chaos.” There’
s a dangerous light in his eyes as he leans down. “You were protecting me. All you had to do was reveal the truth, and this year and a day of loyalty that so chafes at you would be gone. You know it. I know it.” He bares his teeth in a reckless smile. “So tell me, Mira, why didn’t you?”
“Is it so impossible to understand I don’t want to see you dead?”
“You could have cut my heart from my chest and used it to—”
That’s enough. I dart beneath his arm, spinning in a flourish of skirts. Keir whirls, every inch of him poised like a cat prepared to pounce.
“The fae are watching,” I point out.
“Let them watch.” He graces them with half a glance. Not to be distracted, not by something so inconsequential as a half dozen fae lords and their princes. “If I threw you over my shoulder and hauled you away to our rooms, nobody would think anything of it.”
“But if I drove my knee into your balls,” I reply sweetly, “then maybe they’d have something to talk about.”
Impossibly, he laughs. “You’re so fucking stubborn. Why can’t you just admit you care about me?”
The words catch behind my teeth. I liked him, of course. There was a part of me that could even imagine falling for him. Dreaming of him. Wishing there could be something between us….
But I never realized until this moment that I’d taken it quite that far just yet.
The heat steals from my cheeks.
It leaves me breathless, and a little off-balance.
No. Absolutely… no.
The smile slips from his face, his eyes widening just a fraction. “You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t…. I don’t….”
“Stop lying to yourself.” It’s like my words steal all his hard-won control. Hunger stares back at me, naked and demanding. He wants me. The dragon wants me. “It took me a long time to realize what you came to my court for. You knew the truth of what I was, the power in my heart…. All you had to do was breathe a word of it to your king, and I would be looking over my shoulder for wraith assassins. I was angry, Mira.” He prowls toward me. “So angry, when I realized your deception. Until the day I wondered why I hadn’t seen you again. What were you waiting for? What was holding you back from betraying me?” He stares down at me, an indecipherable look on his face. “And there is only one truth that can explain it: You couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”