by Frost Kay
You’re more than nervous. She was on the brink of losing it.
Internally, she winced. Her mind had shut off during the journey across the battlefield. Her singular thought was to stay hidden. Now that the adrenaline was fading from her veins, her confidence seemed to wane as well. Sage surveyed her silent entourage. How was this the only option? What was she doing here? She’d asked herself that a million times already.
You’re giving the people a chance.
At least, that was what she was telling herself. The pit of rage that rolled in her belly said something else.
She wanted revenge.
The hair along her arms rose at the sound of canvas flapping. The warrior to her left straightened just a touch—the first movement they’d made since arriving.
A shiver of awareness ran down her spine, and time seemed to slow, the snow halting midair. What sort of deviltry was this?
Her gaze sharpened, and the air in her lungs froze, as the tent flap lifted higher.
Out stepped her personal demon.
His dark eyes that she once believed were warm, met hers. His inky hair hung around his angular face, brushing his shoulders. He was beautiful. He was monstrous. He was pain and temptation.
“Consort.”
His voice rolled over her, like thunder in a storm, all power.
She shuddered and released a slow breath. Everything about him called to her, from the straight, proud line of his nose to the stubborn chin and almond-shaped eyes. But it was more than his features; it was how he wore them. He was still the most stunning man she’d ever laid eyes upon.
And the vilest.
Time sped up, and Sage blinked once, the snow falling softly around them. Had she just imagined that? Surely, he didn’t hold power over the elements?
Get yourself together.
Ice trickled through her veins, along with the blessed numbness that had been plaguing her for the last week. Thank the stars. Numbness would help her survive whatever he threw at her. Sage sank into it and tipped her chin up, still holding her monster’s gaze. She wouldn’t cower before him. Not here, not ever.
“My lord,” she murmured through chapped lips.
He cocked his head and slowly perused her from head to toe. The temptation to tug her cloak tightly around her body to hide herself from his gaze almost overwhelmed her, but Sage held on. She wouldn’t let him make her feel self-conscious.
“What a pleasant surprise. We’ve missed you while you’ve been visiting Aermia.”
A smile lifted the left side of his mouth, making him appear boyish. Her spine stiffened and she forced herself not to look away. He was the furthest thing from a boy. Innocent, he was not. Her fingers twitched at the thought of slapping the smile off his face. She hadn’t been visiting, and everyone in the silent circle knew it.
He lies. The warlord twists words. He killed Lilja, tortured you, and slaughtered wee ones. Don’t let him manipulate you into giving anything away. Fight for those who have been lost.
The knot beneath her collarbone tightened at the reminder of his crimes. Sage tamped down her icy rage and sorrow and held her arms out, palms up as if she were surrendering. “I am here as you requested.”
He studied her. “Has she been searched?” he asked without looking away from her.
“No,” Blair answered. “Do you want me to strip her?”
Sage kept from blanching. She knew it was going to be brutal. There was no dignity in war.
The warlord teetered his head back and forth and then shook it. “No. Search her here. I’ll strip her later.”
Her pulse began to beat harder, and she wanted to shrink away from him as the unbidden memory of the warlord pressing her against the wall entered her mind. Her body screaming at the pain of being chained to the wall, his lips begging hers to play with his. The warlord’s expression warmed, and something sensual flashed through his eyes like he was remembering it, too. It was enough to make her want to vomit.
Blair approached her and unclasped the white cloak from her neck. The wool fell to the ground, exposing her to the elements. The wind and cold cut through her linen shirt and leather pants, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. She’d never experienced the winter elements like this before.
“Hold your arms higher and spread your legs.”
Sage did as he asked, her body heat slowly leaching from her clothing.
Blair impersonally ran his hands along her arms and down her sides. He relieved her of the daggers sheathed at her hips and one at her right thigh. It was the first time someone had touched her in that fashion, other than Tehl since her time in Scythia. While his hands never lingered, it brought back too many unwanted memories. Her mask never cracked, even as his hands traveled up the insides of her thighs and beneath her breasts.
“Boots.”
Carefully, she pulled off each boot, her stocking feet immediately sinking into the snow. Sage staved off another shiver, and kept her head held high when Blair removed the last two daggers from her boots. She’d known that she’d be stripped of her weapons, but it was still unnerving. Sage hated to be without her blades.
The commander handed her back her boots, which she woodenly put on, her wet socks squelching as she adjusted her stance. Blair circled her and ran his hands along the back of her thighs, over her bum, and across her back. Sage forced herself to keep the bland, neutral expression on her face as he dug his fingers into her braid. The poison ring seemed to burn at the base of her skull. Regulating her breathing was a challenge as his fingers brushed over the cool metal. This was the true test of Blair’s loyalty. Would he give her away? She hadn’t doubted him, but in that moment, everything hung in the balance. One could really never tell who was the enemy these days.
“She’s clean, my lord.”
Relief washed over her, but she kept it tucked away.
Blair picked up her discarded cloak and examined the inside, including all the hems. He handed over her pale cloak, and she swung the material over her shoulders, clasping the garment at her throat, immediately thankful to have something to block the wind. A little fissure of delight wormed its way into her heart that Blair hadn’t discovered the thin razor she’d stashed away in the lining.
Sage pulled her hood over her head, watching the commander when his gaze flickered. It was all the warning she received before a hand touched her chin. Sage startled and jerked back, but the warlord’s calloused fingertips tightened and tipped her head back. He examined her face and leaned so close, his breath heated her own lips.
How she longed to spit in his face.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmured.
The warlord’s cool lips wandered across her right cheekbone. Sage’s fingers clenched at her sides, desperate to be holding a weapon of any sort. It would be so satisfying to stab him in the chest.
“Consort, we have much to work through. I’m sure you’ll soon earn my forgiveness.” He gently pushed her hood back and pulled her thick braid over her shoulder, his fingers running along the silky plaited strands.
Bile burned the back of her throat. Him forgive her? After everything he’d done? He was clearly delusional.
“I am here,” she said simply, praying that the three little words didn’t give away how very much she wished she wasn’t.
“An excellent first step, consort.” His gaze sharpened, then he released her. “Sweep the camp. They wouldn’t have sent her alone.”
Terror filled her, but she kept her calm mask in place. The warlord wasn’t stupid. Blair and three other warriors followed his command, silently prowling into the darkness.
Her monster turned his back on her, moved to the tent, and lifted the flap, warm light spilling onto the snow. “Come.”
Everything inside her rebelled at the command, but she placed one foot ahead of the other, steeling herself for what the future held. Sage offered a final prayer as she crossed the threshold of the demon’s lair.
Warmth immediately curled around her,
and the tent flap closed. She stepped to the left to make room for the creature watching her like prey. Even though she’d moved, he still brushed against her.
The warlord moved farther into the room and paused at another tent flap. He slowly spun to face her. “Are you not coming in?”
What was she supposed to say to that? Best to go with honesty. “I don’t know what to expect.”
“Did you think I was going to throw you in a prison?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, my lord.” Sage winced but didn’t apologize for her comment. He needed her to be real. As much as she hated to admit it, he knew her. If she lied right now, he would know it.
“Things have not always been easy betw—”
An explosion rocked the earth and Sage stumbled a step. She gasped when hands curled around her biceps and yanked her from the door. Her teeth ground together as the warlord hauled her toward the second room faster than what should have been possible. Damn it. She forgot how fast he moved.
Her breath caught, as his midnight eyes caught hers and held fast. Another series of explosions went off, followed by shouts and screaming. His fingers tightened— almost to the point of painful—around her arms and he pressed even closer.
“Was this your doing, wild one?” he whispered.
Sage prepared herself for what came next. She released the breath trapped in her lungs, and let loose the evil smile she had been hiding. Tehl and their men had succeeded.
“Just a little present like the ones you gave me,” she murmured.
Any other demon would have punished her.
Her monster didn’t rage. He didn’t curse. He smiled.
“There she is,” the warlord breathed. “I was wondering when my vicious Sage would come out to play. I was worried there for a moment that an ice queen had taken your place.” He lifted his left hand and brushed her bottom lip.
She snapped her teeth at him. He was not allowed to touch her like that. Ever.
“So much fire,” he whispered. “Welcome home, consort. Our war has only just begun.”
Thirty-Four
Sage
The warlord could not be as calm as he was projecting. He dismissed her, turning to move farther into the room, his steps fluid and graceful. Sage gave the space a cursory glance, noting a large desk to the left of the room, only a map and lantern sitting on its worn surface. A wood stove sat in the rear left corner, and a massive low-sitting bed dominated the right rear corner.
Sage quickly glanced away from the bed and focused on the predator in the room. The warlord moved behind his desk and plucked a sword from behind the furniture. He ignored her as he belted it to his trim waist, and then pulled a black cloak from the back of the wooden chair that sat directly behind the desk.
“I hate to leave you so soon, but duty calls,” he murmured, swinging the cloak over his broad shoulders and clasping it at the throat. The warlord glided around the desk, and her muscles tensed as he paused on her right side.
“Yes?” she asked.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Normally, it would go without saying, but our communication hasn’t always been the best in the past—”
“That’s because you’re a liar.” Sage snapped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t win his trust by acting like a hostile shrew, but who knew? The monster liked confrontation and pain. It might just be what he wanted.
“Like calls to like,” he responded, his expression softening a touch. “We have much to speak of. Now is not the time. Don’t do anything we both might regret.”
She swallowed. He had a way of making a warning sound like a threat. The warlord waited for her affirmation. Sage nodded slowly, her mind whirling.
“Be safe.”
She eyed his lack of protection. “No armor?”
He smiled smugly. “I don’t need any.” With those parting words, he pushed through the tent flap and disappeared from view.
Her lips split into a grin as she stared blankly at the rear of the tent. His arrogance would get him killed. All the better.
A shiver wracked her body. Now that the immediate threat had disappeared, she became very aware that her feet were soaking wet. Stars, she hated the cold. Sage rubbed her arms, trying to create some warmth, and eyed the wooden stove. It would be nice to heat up.
She crept toward the tent flap and pushed it open. The war room was empty but for the giant table they’d passed. Her brows furrowed. No warriors. Odd. Unless he really didn’t like anyone in his space. Sage dropped the flap, strode back to the fire, and held her hands out, the hearth warming her palms. Once her fingers had warmed enough, she stripped her boots and socks from her feet and set them near the brazier to dry. She turned her back to the heat and wiggled her frozen toes, all the while studying the space.
From first glance, there wasn’t much in the room—a desk, chair, bed, and a chest sitting at the foot of the bed. Not much to make a weapon with. Sure, she could cut the bedding to create a rope to strangle him with, but that wouldn’t do her much good. He was too strong. She eyed the chair. It would be easy enough to break it and create a shiv, but that was too noticeable. Sage craned her neck and examined the metal lanterns that hung high in the air. One of those could do nicely if she could reach them. Maybe if she stacked the chair on top of the desk, it would be possible to reach one of them. Then, there was always good old-fashioned burning. Scorching coals could do much damage.
Her heart slowed, and Sage sighed. She was never weaponless, nor powerless. If she kept calm and collected, her plan would work. Gain his trust, get close, and poison him. Plain and simple. Completely warmed, she quietly moved to the desk. Time to snoop.
Three drawers ran down each side and one sat in the middle. Gently, she tried all seven. It didn’t surprise her that they were all locked. The monster was suspicious of everything.
Including you.
Sage crouched and ran her right hand along the bottom of the middle drawer, searching for any little catches or hidden spaces. Nothing. Sage raised her head and squinted at the edge of the desk. Two spots along the edges were cracked. She stood and inspected the damage. What caused those? They almost looked like… Holding her hands out, she placed a palm over each spot. A wicked smile curled her lips despite how chills ran up her arms at his strength.
He isn’t as calm and unaffected as he pretends to be.
The drawers called to her, but it wasn’t worth taking a chance. Even if she could, by some miracle, find something to pick the locks, there’d be evidence.
Sage sidestepped the bed, shying away from the memories it would surely provoke. She knelt beside the chest, her white cloak puddling around her, so she could keep an eye on the entrance, and tried the lock. Much to her surprise, the lock slid open. He obviously wanted her to find what was inside. Sage paused, her fingertips hovering over the lid of the trunk. Did she truly want to open it? Something truly horrendous could be inside. But on the other hand, she could not waste the opportunity to find something that could be used as a true weapon. A woman could never have too many tools in her arsenal.
Gathering her courage, she opened the trunk. Gorgeous fabrics were folded in neat stacks, every color of the imagination. It was as if the trunk held a rainbow. Sage ran her fingers over a luscious red silk. Was this his dressing trunk? She lifted the fabric and shook it out. A gasp exploded from her. It wasn’t his; it was for her. The garment was more scandalous than anything she’d ever seen a woman of night wear. She tossed the garment back into the trunk and scrambled away, her heart pounding in her chest. Why in the wicked hell did he have those?
Don’t be stupid.
Sage squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled a calming breath. Despite his beliefs, she was not his and if he tried to force her to wear one of those, she’d burn them all in the woodstove when he left her alone. In fact—her gaze darted to the fire—she could do it now, but that didn’t strike her as wise. Clearly, it was a gift of some sort.
Sage approached the trunk of clothing like it held
poisonous snakes and pulled each garment out, one by one, trying to discover if there was anything useful. Once it was empty, she ran her hands along the inside of the trunk. Her finger caught on a raised nail in the corner.
Perfect.
She wedged her thumb beneath the nail and tried to wiggle it. Not much movement. And while there wasn’t any appearance of guards inside the tent, she wasn’t a fool to believe the warlord was not having her watched. Sage began softly singing, praying that it covered up the sounds of her efforts. It took longer than she liked, and she was a sweaty mess, but the nail came free.
Quickly, she lifted the edge of the rug, still humming, and pressed the nail into the earth. With that finished, she put the garments back into the chest, changing the order of how they were folded. True, she could have put everything back in place like Rafe had taught her, but the warlord would already suspect her of searching the room. No need to pretend that he didn’t know.
She carefully closed the box and turned, yelping as she came face to face with a leren. Her butt hit the ground as she scrambled back. The feline looked at her with golden eyes.
“Bloody hell,” she breathed, placing her hand over her pounding heart. “Why did you sneak up on me, Nege?”
The leren just stared at her. She cocked her head and held out a hand. The beast released a low growl.
Sage snatched back her arm and slowly scooted to her right. “Understood,” she whispered. “No touching. I can do that.” Careful not to move too quickly, she rose from the ground, her bare toes sinking into the carpet. Nege eyed her but made no move to attack. “That’s a good boy,” she crooned, edging around him and putting the desk between them. Not that it would be much of a deterrent if he decided he wanted to eat her.
“I’ll just stay here,” she said conversationally as she skirted around the brazier. If there was anything that could keep the beast back, it would be the fire. He paced once and then lowered himself in front of the flap entrance. “You stay there.”