His answer left her empty.
Armand sat back down on the sofa and crossed an ankle over his knee. His hands dug into his hair as if he was trying to make sense of something, pulling strands out of his ponytail.
Gandrett watched him, taking the moment of silence to breathe and remind herself that she wasn’t there for Joshua Brenheran, no matter how much any captive deserved to be freed, but for her family—to see them again.
“You’re right, milord.” She sought his gaze and sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. “I should have come to you instead.”
He gave her a nod as a sign of appreciation. “What makes you think I’ll kick you out in the morning?” His features were open, not the cocky, cheery, young man or the evil lord she had expected, but someone with an honest interest in her thoughts. She swallowed.
“Word spreads within the castle,” she said with a shrug. The conversation had taken a turn from which there was no going back anyway.
His lips curled. “Gossip spreads fast in this castle,” he agreed, “but only the gossip I want to be spread.” He winked, some delight returning to his face.
“So it’s not true?” she asked unsure how to actually phrase the question.
“That I bring home a different girl every other night?” He leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “Absolutely.” He gave her a wicked grin, and she wanted to stick out her tongue at him. But before she could embarrass herself, he added. “But not for my entertainment the way my father thinks—the way I let the entire castle believe.”
Gandrett braced herself for the revelation while he measured her from across the room, probably weighing whether he could trust her enough to share his secret.
Apparently, he did, for he said, “My sole entertainment is to torment my father with the embarrassment of bringing home one floozy after the other.” He chuckled to himself.
Gandrett’s jaw dropped.
“He hates you. I could tell from the look on his face.” He seemed to be enjoying the memory. “I’m not going to let you go that easily.”
Gandrett exhaled a breath of relief and worry. She had achieved a milestone for her mission—not being kicked out, earning Armand’s trust. But the fact that he had decided to keep her at the palace only put her from one sort of prison into the next. Yet, that was what her entire life was going to be like—wasn’t it?
“Who says I’d like to stay?” she asked, keeping all emotion from her voice.
In response, Armand’s gaze fell on her bare arms, on the thin scars she never wasted a thought on. “My father might be a different type of cruel, but your scars tell me you could do with some time away from that.”
He didn’t need to point his finger for her to know what he was referring to. So she played along. Not really played, considering the Meister was the only father figure she’d had in the past ten years.
“We can send word to your family if you’d like,” he offered, “tell them that you were injured during your hunt and we are keeping you here until the wounds heal.”
He didn’t need to say that he wasn’t referring to the blow to the head in the forest.
Intimate. This conversation had turned so intimate so fast, touching layers of herself Gandrett had never dared question.
She laced her fingers together the way they did at the priory for meditation hours, just to have something familiar to hold on to. “I don’t think anyone will miss me.” She made it sound like a sad truth. And it wasn’t as far from the truth as she wanted to make herself believe.
Armand just smiled. A warm and open gesture. As if he had shed his masks and only now she was seeing him. “All the better. Then I won’t have a guilty conscience keeping you to myself.”
As she returned his smile, he laughed the way he had with Deelah.
Addie’s footsteps echoed off the rough stone as she carried the filled bucket up for the third time that day. Even though it was late at night—more early morning—Lady Linniue had demanded another one. So she had made the arduous way down to the well once more, her mind still on Gandrett. How she had practically fallen into the corridor through the stone wall. How the door had sealed behind her. The icy cold of her skin…
She was the young lord’s guest, and yet she seemed to have been on the run from something. From him? That would surprise her. For even when he pulled off that heartless, cocky, womanizer noble to perfection, she could see right beyond that facade where the pain over the loss of his mother still stung deeply.
With a gaze out the window, she could tell that dawn would be breaking soon. The music in the castle had ebbed away, and the last guests were leaving in their carriages, singing and swaying, probably drunk with sparkling wine and the music.
When Addie knocked on Lady Linniue’s door, a young man opened it, a dismissive look in his emerald eyes as from the room, the lady’s voice demanded, “Leave the bucket, and make yourself scarce.”
So Addie did.
Chapter Thirty
Lim greeted Gandrett with a whinny as she entered the stables the next day, his head bobbing up and down in something that could be interpreted as enthusiasm.
Her head hurt again, whatever potion Deelah had rubbed onto her wound obviously having worn off. Gandrett didn’t spend a moment thinking what that liquid might have been, for there were other, more pressing things keeping her mind busy.
“Are they feeding you well?” she asked, half-expecting the horse to answer. Nehelon’s horse.
She wondered what he would make of the news she bore. That Armand Denderlain wasn’t half the villain the Brenherans imagined. At least, not when it came to how he treated the women he brought home.
She and Armand had talked until the sun had risen, and she couldn’t tell if it was the wine he had retrieved from his room once they had gotten into a flow, but he had poured out his heart about his mother’s death and that he thought his father was responsible for it. Responsible in what way exactly, he still intended to find out.
Whether or not he knew about the icy tunnels under the castle, Gandrett couldn’t tell. With no word he’d spoken had he given away even the hint of it. Still, Gandrett knew better than to trust a noble who had a moment of trust. His trust had been part of her mission. And now, it was time to get to the core of it.
Lim nudged his nose to her arm and nibbled at the loose gray sleeve of the dress Deelah had brought for her this morning. She patted his nose, thinking about whether or not it was a good idea to ask Armand to go on a ride with her. Just to see how well guarded the castle was, to get a better impression of the immediate terrain around the massive stone fortress. She hadn’t had a chance on her way in, given she’d fallen victim to the aftermath of her encounter with the tree trunk.
But Armand was probably still between his sheets, sleeping off the excitement of the night.
That left her with some spare time to explore the inconspicuous parts of the castle. The main corridors on her level and the level below. The hallway leading to the great hall where the remainders of last night’s event had been scrubbed away by busy hands and the courtyard that had led her to the stables.
“Feel free to look around,” Armand had invited her before he’d tumbled through the hidden door behind the painting of the castle, “but by all means, let me sleep in.”
She had done exactly that and taken off by herself, smiling at every guard, pretending not to notice the whispers behind her back, curtseying at a yawning Lord Hamyn Denderlain whose eyes were shadowed with dark bruises as if he hadn’t slept at all, and not cringed at the bark he’d given her as he’d noticed her by the stairwell.
Much to her satisfaction, the dress she wore today accommodated both weapons Nehelon had given her. It was also warmer than last night’s gown. A blessing Deelah thought practical rather than pretty even if Armand might have probably preferred the latter.
Lim whinnied again as Gandrett remained in her thoughts for a while.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” She ra
n her hand over the soft fur on his neck and was about to take a step back from the wood that separated her from the horse’s stomping hooves when she noticed a crow on the windowsill to the courtyard.
At her glare, it cocked its head, reminding her surprisingly of the fat bird that had followed her around at the priory.
“Shoo.” She waved her hand more to reassure herself she wasn’t going crazy but that those murky eyes were really focused on her.
The bird didn’t move. Instead, it hopped closer, settling right between Lim’s ears. The horse stomped again but kept its neck still.
It was only when the crow clicked its beak that Gandrett noticed the small item tied to its leg. It cocked its head again, waiting.
Gandrett glanced down the long clean-swept corridors to both sides, finding no soul besides the hay-chewing horses in their stalls.
With quick fingers, she reached for the crow, Lim lowering his head to help, and carefully extracted a small scroll from the cord around its leg. The crow clicked its beak at her, still waiting, so Gandrett unfurled the parchment and read.
If you read this, it means Riho found you alive and on your own. If you want to deliver a message, talk to him. He’ll find me.
Gandrett attempted to control the pace of her heart as her eyes flew over the scripted lines. A message from Nehelon. And a channel to the outside world.
“So you are Riho,” she said to the bird which, again, clicked its beak, expectation brightening its eyes. “I have a message for Nehelon.”
Addie watched Gandrett across the yard from the windows in the stairwell. She looked better than last night. Not as cold, not as bothered, scared even. Her chestnut hair was flowing behind her in soft waves rather than the thick curls from the night before, and her stride, even if she concealed it well, her movements reminded Addie more of that of a warrior than of a lady.
Maybe it was the angle or that she had seen Gandrett sheath that blade in such efficient, professional movements that she couldn’t forget the sight of it.
More—definitely more than she let on.
Addie didn’t linger, her bucket weighing heavier than normal in her hands.
She couldn’t wipe the sight of the young man from her mind; how he had studied her while she’d set down the bucket before the door. How his hand had darted for it that moment she had let go and taken a step back. Eyes like gems. Emerald and glowing even in the dim light of the night.
Addie shuddered and continued walking.
She made it to the lady’s floor and was about to cross over to the east tower when footsteps carried through the usually empty corridor.
Addie stopped in an alcove where a set of steel armor was propped on a low dais. A relic of wars long gone past. Not the type of war that was now plaguing Sives. Addie saw the soldiers leave under Lord Hamyn’s command and small groups riding out under Armand’s command. Whenever they returned, there was blood on their hands and ash staining their uniforms.
She didn’t want to think about what they were up to while they were gone. Who they killed and who they spared. As long as a good portion of them returned safely—including the young lord.
The footsteps stopped, and Addie’s heart picked up pace instead. Invisible. That’s what she was in this court, and it was better than being at the focus of Lord Hamyn’s temper or Lady Linniue’s gossiping. Only the young lord was someone she would like to be noticed by—just once. Even if he wouldn’t see anything more than a dirty slave clothed in rags.
“Who’s there?” a cautious male voice asked.
Addie held her breath, her bucket cutting into the inside of her fingers as she pulled it closer.
“I know you are there.” The voice trembled.
Addie didn’t speak. Didn’t dare as much as think.
The footsteps continued, coming closer until Addie could see a pair of brown boots. The rest was covered by the suit of armor.
But the man wasn’t the only one who had been spotted.
So fast Addie couldn’t brace herself, the man was upon her, hard grasp restraining her, forcing her forward out of her hiding place.
She didn’t struggle. She had learned in the prison in the north what defiance brought with it.
So she held still, letting him drag her forward, water spilling from her bucket as she stumbled along.
“You.” The man blinked at her with emerald eyes.
Addie blinked in response. It was the young man from Lady Linniue’s room.
As he eyed her with what appeared to be relief, Addie dared to take a better look at the sharp angles and broad planes of his face now that daylight brightened his features.
“I thought you were—” He loosed his grasp on her upper arms, probably leaving bruises where his fingers had been placed. Addie didn’t flinch. And the young man didn’t finish his sentence.
There was fear written on his features, distorting them slightly but doing nothing to hide how handsome he was.
His eyes darted in both directions as if making sure they were alone. Then his hand shot out, clutching hers, and he fell to his knees. “Help me.”
His eyes kept staring at her, regardless of her inability to react, his grasp tightening on her hand. But despite the memories of violence the force of his hand induced, he didn’t seem to intend to hurt her.
“Get me out of here before it happens again,” he pleaded, face ashen.
Addie searched for the shreds of courage the prison in the north had left her with and knelt as well, bringing her head to the same level.
She hadn’t given it a thought, but before last night, she had never seen the young man.
“Who are you?” she asked, setting down her bucket and grabbing his hand in an attempt to peel his fingers off hers.
“Later,” he urged and held her gaze. “You’re Lady Linniue’s servant. You know your way around the palace. Get me out of here.” The young man seemed to be about to vomit his guts up.
Addie considered offering him the bucket but then shied away, considering the consequences that would surely follow once the lady found out what she had let this young man do to the water inside.
It wasn’t as if anyone had ever told her what exactly that water was. Why it was so crucial for Lady Linniue to have it available in her chambers at all times, why Addie was woken in the cold dead of night just to make the cumbersome path down under the north tower and back up again. Addie never asked. She knew from the prison in the north what could happen to people who asked too many questions.
That was probably why Lady Linniue had brought her in from there. And she would be eternally grateful to the gods for that small mercy. At least she wasn’t pushed out in the snow at any sign of disobedience.
“Even if I wanted to—” Addie considered. Her chest tightened at the despair in his eyes.
She couldn’t betray the lady. The price she’d pay would be…
What if the lady never found out? What if…
“Tell me your name,” she demanded. “And I might think about it.”
Memories of days that she’d hoped to escape the prison in the north flashed in her mind. She would have given anything for the opportunity to flee. Would have paid any price. Even if no one would ever believe that prison existed. She’d tried in the first weeks at Eedwood castle to find an open ear, find someone who helped her get back home.
But when she had mentioned Lands End, they had only laughed at her. So she stopped. She kept to herself. She no longer looked for a way out. For even if the castle looked like an average one, she knew how well guarded the walls were, how no one entered without permission.
Even the Brenheran brutes who had intruded this past winter only to be fought off by those relentless guards—guards under the young lord’s command, she reminded herself—had failed to achieve whatever they had come for. So she had heard the other servants talk.
“Joshua,” the young man said quietly, his gaze never yielding, begging her to hear him.
Addie’s heart stoppe
d as she looked him over, their hands locked between them in a pull-and-grasp struggle. His hair was a golden brown that reminded her of the fine horses in the stables, and his clothes were the same finery he had worn the night before.
“Why are you running, Joshua?” The question was as simple as it was damning.
Joshua’s chin sank to his chest. “I have been trying to escape since the day I got here. I can’t even tell how long I’ve been their prisoner.”
She had heard the servants whisper about a prisoner. A noble one. From the Brenheran household. That was who the Brenheran brutes had come for that night—
“Joshua Brenheran.” The pieces fell into place as Addie’s hands went taut in the Brenheran heir’s grasp.
He glanced at her, broken. “Help me. Please.”
Nehelon picked up the hunting knife Gandrett had wanted to bring on her mission, the one he had denied her, and ran it over the log of wood for the millionth time. He hadn’t counted the number of carvings he had made nor had he assessed their quality. The only thing he knew was that whatever he intended to carve, he ended up with a miniature-Gandrett in his hands.
A miniature-Gandrett he pulverized with his magic so no one would ever learn how much her allure sang to him. And it wasn’t her face—he remembered every freckle on her cheeks, every fleck of gold in her eyes, every imperfection that made her so much more perfect—but it was her fierce heart that drew him in. Unyielding. Determined. Vala’s Blade. They didn’t call her that without a reason. Strong in so many more ways than just her fighting.
Nehelon sighed at the figurine between his fingers and snapped the fingers of his other hand, making it disappear into a cloud of dust. He watched the cloud carry into the skies from his position in the crown of a tree where he had made his temporary residence in the forest of Eedwood.
An upset caw disturbed his musing as Riho hopped onto his shoulder.
“Hello, friend,” Nehelon flipped the knife in his hand and stuck it into the branch beside his knee the moment he spotted that the note was gone from the bird’s leg.
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