Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3)

by Heather R. Blair

  I ignore this for now and raise my eyebrows at the sight of the two small objects on the table in front of Tyr. He nods and points at each in turn.

  “A vampire fang. An associate of mine enchanted it to work for me once we found a suitable donor. You are acquainted with Ivo Grant, I believe? He was quite eager to help out, though he sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here in person to reap the effects.”

  “How very generous of old Ivo. What do you want, assassin?”

  Tyr ignores my question, tapping the bloodstained fang with a fingertip. “Your magic is gone for the next hour or so.” The tip of his finger brushes the second object, a vial filled with a wine-red and viscous liquid, which I can only assume is my blood. He pockets it, smiling at me. I’m not sure what he wants with my blood, but I’m fairly certain it won’t be good. Unfortunately, trying to take it from him at the moment is not an option. “So I’d like to have a chat before we get started.”

  “Get started? So you are here to kill me, then?”

  His smile widens. “Well, I’m not looking to play pat-a-cake, Frost. And without your magic, we both know I’ve got a better than average shot. You’re no god yet.” His eyes are flat as they bore into mine. I keep my expression neutral, despite the warning tendril that creeps up my spine. He can’t know about that. No one does, not even Rochka. “I plan to savor this commission, you know. I liked that sassy little witch.”

  Thomas speaks up in the brittle silence that follows, panic tightening his already high-pitched voice. “But Jack said he didn’t do it. Right before you crashed through my window. He said that he didn’t kill Seph.”

  Shit. Shut up, Thomas.

  Too late. Tyr raises an eyebrow, his gaze turning sharp and speculative. “Is that so?”

  I shrug, my mind racing through all the probable outcomes of continuing this conversation. I know Tyr isn’t loyal to Cerunnos. Any assassin of the realm’s loyalty is to coin and coin alone. But do I want a creature like him to know the whole truth? Very probably not. “Perhaps I lied.”

  “Perhaps.” Tyr gets to his feet and studies me as Thomas blinks. “Somehow I wonder, Frost. You’re not as good at lying as you once were.”

  He lifts his sword and cuts it lightly at my throat. I don’t flinch, though my shoulders and arms tighten. I hate that thrice-cursed blade of his, and it hates me. The sword is imbued with the element of fire, my antithesis. Tyr smiles as the tip of it hovers an inch from my nose, smoky red flames licking along both lethal edges.

  I raise my eyebrows, deciding to play a single card and see where it leads. “Damn shame you don’t have the truth stone on you, isn’t it? I guess its master is keeping a tighter grip on it these days.”

  His smile fades and his eyes narrow. “She told you about that?”

  I let loose a bitter laugh. “Oh, much better, assassin. She used the damn thing on me.”

  Tyr cocks his head. I can see his mind working as quickly as my own. What to share, what to conceal. What to use. The constant vigilance required to navigate our world. The part Seph never really got. “That’s interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as things would’ve gotten had Seph been able to use the stone at her inquiry. Did you like her enough to double-cross Cerunnos, Tyr?”

  He grins and shakes his head. “You know better than that, Frost. A sexy ass and a smart mouth aren’t enough to make me change sides. Though it seems enough for some.” He contemplates me, those black eyes cool. “Had Persephone made her Council date, I would’ve been somewhere far, far away, with a fat and happy wallet, laying quite low.”

  I would’ve never guessed Tyr would betray Cerunnos so baldly. Oh, I knew he had the balls to do so, but assassins take risk very seriously. Who, or what, could’ve enticed him to take that sort of risk and steal the truth stone—let alone give it to Seph? Despite what he’s insinuating, money alone seems unlikely.

  Opportunity never runs out, but luck will. It’s a saying favored by assassins of the realm for a reason.

  “But you’re here now. Who paid you to help Seph, Tyr? The same person who wants me dead now?”

  He doesn’t answer, not that I expected him to. The sword moves closer to one of my eyes, the wicked point sheathed in flame. The taste of sulfur coats my throat as I take a deep breath, preparing for anything.

  There is a slim possibility I can take Tyr without my magic. But with him in possession of that sword and me unarmed…

  I’d really prefer we settle this without finding out. I listen to the drip of melting snow outside from the eaves above the broken window, trying to ignore the wink of the blade in front of me.

  After what feels like ages, Tyr takes his seat, though he doesn’t sheath his sword.

  “Talk. I’ll admit I’m curious. And stick to the truth this time, else my curiosity will dry up real quick.”

  I don’t know why I do it, but I do. I tell the fucking assassin the truth.

  “I didn’t kill Persephone. Her sister did.”

  “Which one?” His tone is sharp, but I find it curious he doesn’t dismiss my statement out of hand.

  “Jett.”

  Tyr relaxes ever so slightly, leaning back into his chair. His eyes find the ceiling, even as his fingers tighten on the grip of his sword.

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. But she did. I saw it with my own two eyes.” My hands tighten under the table again as I will the images away.

  “And you’ve told no one this because…”

  “You know why. Cerunnos would be after my head otherwise. Maybe he already is.” I make the last words into a question, which elicits a soft chuckle from Tyr.

  “Stop fishing, Frost.” The assassin studies the play of shadows above us as if they hold the key to the universe. “But no, he didn’t hire me for this. You’re his favored bitch at the moment, remember?”

  “Am I? Sometimes I wonder about that.”

  He lowers his gaze to mine and smiles. “That’s probably wise.”

  A chill that isn’t my doing runs through the air. We stare at each other across the kitchen table for a long time. Thomas clears his throat. “Why do I feel like there’s a whole conversation going on here that I’m not hearing?”

  “He’s rather clever, for a human.” Tyr’s eyes don’t leave mine, both of us trying to read every nuance of the other. Both too skilled to give away much. Or so I hope.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “But why is Jack Frost visiting a human to tout his innocence when up until now he’s been perfectly happy to take credit for the murder of a certain witch?”

  I decide to drop another card. I need to stall the assassin a few more minutes and—my eyes flick to the fang on the table—perhaps I can make use of him. “Maybe because I need someone to bear witness.”

  Thomas frowns. “I didn’t witness Seph’s death—”

  Understanding burns in the assassin’s eyes as he cuts Thomas off. “He doesn’t mean that kind of witness, he means a character witness. You’re going to the bruins. But how does that work? Neither you nor the witch fall under their domain.”

  “Actually she did.” My teeth grind together as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  Tyr leans back in his chair, his expression guarded. “Really? Kivistö took things that far?”

  “He did.”

  I don’t think Seph ever realized just how seriously Georg took his offer to marry her. I do. Even from the grave Kivistö enjoys taunting me. But this time the bastard inadvertently did me a favor.

  “Ahh.” Tyr pauses, mulling it over. “You are going to appeal to the heir apparent.” He’s quick, I’ll give him that. Tyr knows exactly who I want on my side, if not precisely why.

  “Good guess.”

  “And this human is the only one you can offer as your witness?” He shakes his head. “What about your fairy?”

  “They don’t like her, she’s done… things to piss them off. I need him. I can’t chance using someone they will dismiss as unworthy
. And Seph was his friend, which will help my case.”

  “But exactly how do you intend to make a case, Frost? What’s your proof?”

  I smile tightly. “I’ve got that covered.”

  “Really?” With a decisive nod, Tyr gets to his feet. “Well, let’s go. This I gotta see.”

  “You’re letting the commission go?”

  “Of course not.” He grins. “I’m coming with you. If the human agrees once he hears the terms.” His glance at Thomas is considering. “I take it you hadn’t gotten that far before I interrupted.”

  I shrug, testing the pain in my shoulder. It’s nearly gone, just a fading pinprick.

  Thomas’s gaze moves from Tyr to me and back again, his scarred side looking sinister in the yellowish light. “What does he mean?”

  “Do you believe me?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

  He frowns, his scars pulling his lips into a one-sided grimace. “I never believed you killed her in the first place. But Jett killing her? I don’t know, Jack. I’ve lived with them, seen them grieve. Jett loved Persephone.”

  Love has never stopped anyone from killing—in our world or his. In fact, more often than not, it’s the catalyst for murder. But I let it go. If he goes along with this, everyone will soon know the truth anyway. I hope. “It doesn’t matter what you think about Jett as long as you’re willing to attest to that belief in my character. There’s one other thing, Thomas,” I hesitate, even though I’m fairly sure of this part. Like the bruin I plan to appeal to, Thomas has a rather rigid code of honor. “If they find me guilty, they’ll kill you, too.”

  He pales. Tyr chuckles, but Thomas ignores him, his eyes boring into mine. “Is that all?”

  “That won’t happen, Thomas.” Probably. “I can prove I didn’t kill her.” If I get to choose the venue. If my plan actually works.

  If, if, if.

  “And who are we hoping doesn’t kill us?”

  “The bruins. Stephen Krueger will be the judge.”

  “You mean that big, black-haired guy who was at Seph’s funeral with Syana and the scary redhead?”

  The funeral I didn’t get to attend. My hands clench under the table. “Yes, Thomas, that would be him.”

  “You want to convince that guy that Jett killed Seph?” He looks a bit sick.

  I nod, wondering if it’s Stephen being a shifter that’s giving Thomas the willies. He has reason to be wary of things with fur and claws after all. I watch his scars stretch as he swallows.

  The assassin raises his eyebrows at me as if to say, Humans. What can you do? Tyr is not the type to sympathize with any perceived weakness. Then again, back in the day, I would’ve shared his disdain.

  Thomas glares at us both, regaining some color. “I think you’re both missing something rather important.”

  “What would that be?” I ask.

  “I saw him and Jett together a few months back. Well…mostly heard them, if you get me.” He sighs, his voice going quiet. “It was kind of hard not to, they were right outside my door.”

  At his pointed look, I do a slow blink. So does Tyr. The assassin’s gaze finds mine and I’m betting I look just as floored as he does. Jett Gosse’s hatred of bruins is legendary, though the reason why is not so well known.

  “Maybe it was a one-time deal?” he suggests.

  “Sure didn’t sound like it.” Thomas coughs. “They were arguing for quite a while before things got…heated. I’d say it wasn’t the first time, or the last, Jack. Not if this Krueger had anything to say about it. He seemed like the possessive sort. Kept saying she was his, and I got the impression he meant it very literally.”

  Gods. I look at Tyr, Tyr looks at me. The would-be bruin king getting ‘possessive’ with the witch who despises all things bear-like? That’s the kind of tidbit that would definitely start tongues wagging in the FTC community if it was common knowledge. They’ve been hiding it. Quite effectively, it would seem.

  As Seph would say, this is fucking bullshit.

  “If you go accusing Jett of killing her sister,” Thomas continues, “I don’t think he’s going to take it well.”

  Thomas has no idea how right he is. You don’t get between a bruin and his woman. Shit.

  I sit back and let it all sink in, my head pounding. The first thing that occurs to me is that Krueger could’ve had a hand in whatever Jett’s plot is—but I dismiss that almost immediately.

  Krueger has a reputation for honor that is unrivaled among FTCs. That’s not necessarily a good thing in our world, but the likelihood that he was involved in Jett’s plot to kill her sister seems slim to nil. Then again, I still don’t know why Jett killed her sister in the first place, other than ending the prophecy, of course.

  What’s more likely is that Jett is playing him. Just like she’s playing her sisters. The problem is I need that bruin. Getting him to listen, which was going to be a hell of a bitch already, just got a whole lot dicier. I have a way to prove to everyone I’m telling the truth once we get to the Gosse sisters. But he’s the key to getting me there.

  I finally shrug again, getting to my feet.

  “So I don’t tell him until the last second. None of us do.” I turn to Tyr. “You agree?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  My eyes narrow on the grinning assassin, my fingers starting to tingle. Almost there. “You just want to watch me poke a bear with a stick.”

  “That’s funny, Frost. Did some of your dead witch’s sense of humor rub off on you?”

  I’m on him before he can blink.

  My element crackles down Tyr’s blade, sheathing his hand and arm in a glove of ice before he can move. Then my hand is wrapped around his throat. “Watch your mouth, assassin, unless you want to be an ice cube for eternity.”

  “Guess your magic’s back. That was quick.” He chokes, forcing a brittle smile. “Seems you’re a bit stronger than I remember.”

  I let him go with a tight smile of my own. He has no idea how right he is. I haven’t exactly been idle all these weeks. “Guess so. Now let’s get something straight. We’re going to see the damn bruins, and you’re going to bring that fang of Ivo’s. It may come in handy for what I’ve got in mind.”

  Tyr cocks his head. Then his eyes light up in understanding, even as his brow furrows. “You really intend to do this properly, don’t you?”

  “You mean you doubted my honesty? That hurts.” I use the wind to flick open the door. Tyr steps through, still looking at me over his shoulder. I untie Thomas and help him outside.

  “Want a ride?” I throw the offer at Tyr, but he only sneers.

  “Aww, shucks. That’s sweet, Frost. Let’s not get too cozy just yet. I’ll meet you there.”

  “How do I know you’ll show?”

  “Of course I’ll show. I still have a commission to collect and like I told you, I’m curious. Especially given what I’ve just realized.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You loved her.” There’s something that may be sympathy in those black eyes. No doubt a trick of the light, but I don’t bother to deny his words. There’s no point anymore.

  “And?”

  “And that means you’ve got something to prove. To her sisters, and to yourself. See you in Wisconsin in ten.” He pulls at a bit of scrollwork at his belt and vanishes just as I realize I never got that damn vial off him.

  “I’ll be there in five,” I mutter, before the wind takes Thomas and me away.

  4

  Actually it’s less than five, and I don’t get the chance to knock. Krueger has the door open the second I land on the steps of the Den with Thomas.

  “What is this?” He’s huge and beyond pissed, probably because I blew past the guard at the perimeter. It was a calculated risk but one I had to take. I couldn’t let myself get turned away without even seeing him. Even more so than Kivistö—who was fairly even-tempered for a bruin— Krueger has a reputation for being slow to anger. You wouldn’t know it by his current appearance. He’s growling
at me and I can see the shadow of the beast within eclipsing the man. He steps outside, slamming the door behind him with such force the third-story windows above us rattle.

  I was hoping for a bit more restraint.

  Like I said, the bruins haven’t officially crowned a new king yet. But my bet is on this man.

  Krueger was Kivistö’s second, which gives him an edge, to be sure. It’s more than that, though. Stephen was born to be a goddamn king. A real one. Not like me, with my magical title. This is a man lousy with righteousness. He’s practically drowning in it.

  I’m hoping that makes him someone I can reason with, but just this second, I’m not so sure.

  Of course, recent events have stirred up the far-flung bruin community more than usual. Stephen has to be under incredible pressure to formally declare war with the wolves, an action within his rights as second to the fallen king. It’s almost demanded by the circumstances of Kivistö’s death—at least if they can’t satisfy their honor by killing those directly responsible. He hasn’t yet, which is curious. By all accounts, he and Kivistö were very close. He must want revenge and I’ve no idea why he hasn’t taken it yet. Then again, maybe he’s simply waiting to find Luna and her pack and take a more personal revenge. If that is the case—

  The sound of footfalls coming up the stairs we just climbed is fainter than a whisper, but I catch it. The back of my neck prickles. I force myself not to turn, to look the bruin facing me in the eye. “I need a word.”

  “What you’re going to get is stabbed in the back, Frost.” A razor-sharp claw taps between my shoulder blades and presses through my jacket and shirt until it bites into my skin. “Just the way you did Seph.”

  Maybe coming here was a fool’s errand. Maybe trying to do things the right way isn’t going to work for me. Frustration and rage bursts through the icy shell I’ve tried to maintain as I spin, grabbing the bruin at my back by the throat.

  One of the Schade brothers. I can’t tell which one in this light, but the gleam of red hair is unmistakable. He probably outweighs me, but I lift him off his feet without even feeling it, power snapping through my veins. Thomas lays a hand on my arm as the bruin starts to gag and kick. Behind me I hear a warning snarl from Krueger.