“I want you to concoct a celebratory spread,” Cait declared, not letting this miserable account dampen her mood or her plans. “We have spirits to bolster.”

  “And I want an oven that doesn’t have the temperament of a nobleman’s spoiled daughter,” Maple retorted with a snort. “We’re all going to have to make room for disappointment in our lives.”

  “Hey now,” Cait said, moderately offended at the comment about noblemen’s daughters. “No need to be surly about bloodlines.”

  Maple shrugged in halfhearted apology. “Sometimes the truth fits like a guilty man’s glove though, don’t it?”

  Greff cleared his throat. “We shall try to whip up something worthy of your praise,” he promised.

  Maple sighed as if Greff had promised to make gold out of straw and muttered under her breath as she grabbed a bag of apples and dumped them onto the table.

  “Apples!” Cait cried, snatching one from the table. “It’s been too long since I’ve had one.” She lifted the fruit to her lips.

  “I’d wait till they’re stewed,” Greff said. “I heard they were swiped from a wagon of pig feed.”

  Cait’s hand froze an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, then laid the apple back on the table.

  Dubious origins, indeed.

  Maple looked like she might be thinking about laughing, but after a withering look from Cait, she rearranged her mouth in her trademark scowl. She picked up a knife and began peeling the apples while whistling tunelessly.

  One of Nath’s beggar orphans stuck his head inside the kitchen. “Cait,” he cried. “There you is. Quill’s looking for you everywhere.”

  “There you are,” Cait corrected automatically.

  “Of course I’m here,” the orphan said with a roll of his eyes. “I wasn’t lost, you was.” And he gestured for Cait to follow him. “Hurry!”

  All of the orphans had been especially wild since Nath’s departure. Cait had been teaching them some, but they alternately sniffled for Nath and begged for stories about beheadings and then refused to do their lessons with angry defiance. Cait was at her wit’s end with them. Lately, Quill had been sending them out for reconnaissance missions, which Cait objected to—children ought to be learning, not acting like little soldiers—but if they weren’t kept busy, the orphans were like puppies, always underfoot and getting into everything.

  “Try to make something delicious,” Cait said to Greff before she followed the orphan boy from the room.

  Quill waited in the throne room for her. He was perched on the splintered throne, peering down his spectacles as he scribbled something furiously on a scrap of parchment. He didn’t look up as Cait entered, but went on writing as if he were the thief king and she some underling that he had summoned.

  Cait had no time for such nonsense. Briand might be alive, Kael had written, and that single word—might—was good enough to embolden Cait. She would continue the work of the Scarlet Blade until Briand came home. She would tear down oppression and banish darkness.

  Starting with Quill’s insolence.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded in a tone that rarely left her lips.

  Quill lifted his gaze, startled.

  Truth be told, they were both startled. Cait pretended she wasn’t.

  “Get down from there,” she ordered. “The throne is for the thief-queen.”

  Quill studied her face as if to determine if she were serious, and then he slowly stood and stepped away from the throne.

  “You had something you wanted to say to me?” Cait asked imperiously.

  “Yes,” Quill answered, his brows drawing together musingly. He looked Cait up and down as if seeing her afresh. “The mayor has doubled his efforts recently, no doubt emboldened by the lack of activity on our part. Since Guttersnipe has been gone—”

  “Then we’ll strike back,” Cait said. “Redouble our efforts to meet his.”

  When Quill hesitated, she said, “I don’t need to hold your hand on this, Quill. Get a team ready.”

  He gaped at her. She felt oddly empowered.

  Cait stared pointedly at Quill until he nodded and strode away to do as she’d asked.

  Alone, she sank down beside the empty throne of barrels and stared at the open sky above. How could she have been so remiss?

  She would do everything she could to make Briand proud, so when her friend returned, things would be better than before.

  “Find her fast, Kael,” she whispered into the silence. “Hurry back, Guttersnipe.”

  PART TWO:

  ~

  SEARCHING

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE PLACE WHERE the queen of Nyr had ordered Auberon and his sister to be imprisoned in could hardly be considered a cell, Nath thought with irritation as he practiced swordplay in the yard to clear his head. The Seeker siblings had a suite of rooms, including a heated pool for bathing, and there was even a small garden with a fountain and a fruit tree. That murderer was reclining in the lap of luxury when he ought to be in a proper jail, with rats and dripping ceilings and dirty straw.

  “All of our jails are well-kept,” the shadow guard Alisi said with an imperious sniff when he expressed such sentiments to her. “We don’t have anything like you described. We aren’t barbarians.”

  “He shouldn’t be coddled and catered to,” Nath insisted. “He betrayed us. He tried to kill Kael!”

  “The queen is not interested in your personal squabbles,” Alisi replied. “She cares about the strategic advantage of having a Seeker on hand.”

  “It’s like putting a snake in your pocket,” Nath warned.

  “Yours attracts literal snakes,” Alisi countered, nodding at Crispin, who was practicing archery on the other side of the yard. As she spoke, a long green serpent dropped from the trees onto the lad’s shoulders. He let out a shriek of surprise, his arrow going wide and landing at the feet of Tibus, who was entering the yard. The soldier lifted his shaggy brows, his only reaction to nearly being shot, and he crouched down and plucked the arrow from the ground with one massive fist.

  “Try not to kill anyone, lad,” he said as he strode across the yard.

  Crispin reddened. “There was a snake,” he said plaintively. “It startled me.”

  “Your new dragonsayer is… quite different from the other one, isn’t he?” Alisi commented.

  Nath sighed. “He is.”

  “Is your prince confident that his new dragonsayer will be able to complete missions and command dragons?”

  “The prince knows what he’s doing,” Nath said with loyal gruffness, unwilling to speculate on the plans of Prince Jehn with one of the queen’s shadow guards, especially if those plans were cast in a doubtful light.

  Alisi got the hint and wisely dropped the subject.

  As they watched, Crispin attempted to command Vox to fetch one of the arrows from the other side of the yard. The dracule flopped onto his back instead and wriggled in the sand with a yipping sound.

  “Blasted creature,” Crispin shouted. “I know you can hear me. Get the arrow!”

  Vox rolled onto his side and regarded Crispin with a sneeze that produced a spray of sparks and a few curls of smoke.

  Crispin looked as if he were going to burst into flames from fury. He cast a few sidelong glances at the others—Tibus, who had gone to the other side of the yard and who was steadfastly ignoring the proceedings, Alisi and Nath, who watched openly, and the other shadow guard who were going through their stretching routines—and then he brightened as if he’d had an idea. He disappeared through the gate, and Vox watched him go with one ear raised. Then, the dracule laid his head on his paws with a mournful sound.

  “He misses the dragonsayer,” Nath muttered, and resisted adding the real one to the end of his sentence.

  How they got stuck with Feverbeet, of all people…

  Nath knew they should be thankful that the poison had worked at all. That the lad wasn’t dead. But mostly, they were all either exasperated at best or furious at worst at the lad’s presumption.

  But they couldn’t change it.

  “Perhaps he’ll surprise you yet,” Alisi said with a half-smile.

  Nath grunted. “Do you know how he got his nickname? He surprises us all the time with his capacity for insanity.”

  Crispin returned to the yard. He crossed to the arrows and arranged them in a pile before returning to his original spot. “Vox,” he called, his voice stiff, “bring me an arrow.”

  This time, the dracule bounded up, ears pricked, and looked at Crispin expectantly before trotting over to the arrows, nosing among them, and then grabbing one in his teeth. He romped across the yard and deposited the shaft in Crispin’s outstretched hand.

  “Good boy,” Crispin said loudly, no doubt so everyone in the yard would take note. “That’s much better.”

  Vox turned an anxious circle in front of Crispin, making a high-pitched whine in his throat.

  Nath frowned. What was the lad doing?

  “Go get another one,” Crispin ordered Vox, his tone confident now.

  Again, the dracule was willing to dash across the sand to fetch one.

  Nath was puzzled, but he had better things to spend his attention on. He shrugged and looked for Kael, who was noticeably late.

  It was time for their daily sparring session.

  Where was Kael?

  ~

  Auberon lay on his back, staring at the painted pattern on the ceiling in his and Jade’s suite of rooms that was serving as their prison while two servants rubbed his feet with scented oils. A third girl, not a servant, traced delicate circles on his bare chest with her fingertips and cooed seductive words in his ear.

  Auberon wasn’t listening to her, though.

  Jade slept in the other room, and Auberon had tried to do the same, but his worries and concerns were making it nearly impossible. So, he was making the most of his captivity by enjoying the things the queen of Nyr had to offer.

  He sat up with a sigh of frustration and reached for the wine goblet on his left, and his hand clinked as it touched the stem of the cup. He wore flexible, jointed metal gloves that encased his hands and prevented him from using his powers. Orders of the queen of Nyr, officially. No doubt they were the traitor’s idea. They were an absolute nightmare. Not to mention, such precautions were completely unnecessary. Yes, he wanted to put thoughts of pain and torture into the minds of the Monarchist fools. They were obnoxious idiots, all of them, and they drove him alternately to fits of fury and loathing when they weren’t boring him nearly to tears. But he wasn’t going to harm them. Idiots. He had been the one to come to them, after all. He’d surrendered himself. He wouldn’t have done that if he were planning to maim or kill them. And as delightful as the idea of killing the Monarchist louts was, it was the exact opposite of what he needed. He needed them alive and healthy.

  No, he’d surrendered himself for the dragon girl. His dragon girl. For he and Briand Varryda shared a bond unlike anyone else. They shared similar childhoods, similar soul wounds. They shared a dream space that had formed in some other dimension just for them. He was bound to save her—he had no choice.

  Not that he could have chosen otherwise. Saving her was water, and he was on fire.

  Naturally, those oafs didn’t understand this. They acted like it was impossible for him to have a shred of feeling. Like he was an animal. A monster.

  Yes, he had reneged on his word before, for lords’ sake. He and the Monarchists were enemies, after all. And that was, ah, a bit problematic when it came to gaining their trust.

  But, Auberon argued against himself in his mind, the situation was different now! He’d come to Kael and his compatriots without a hidden agenda, and he’d allowed them to look in his brain with that second-rate dragonsayer boy and see what he had seen. He’d let that little mite touch him. So, they couldn’t pretend they didn’t know his thoughts. And they shared a common goal this time. They weren’t bound together by cooperation bartered at knifepoint, war secrets dangled like carrots on a stick, or a situation of mutually assured destruction.

  They just all wanted to see Briand safe.

  That—Briand’s safe return—was what the Monarchist idiots needed to focus on. But instead, the fools were keeping him locked up, wasting their attention on having him sequestered and imprisoned instead of using all their resources to find her. It was beyond infuriating. He had no doubt she was holding her own, wherever she was, but she had to be frightened and alone.

  At least the queen of Nyr had given him this chamber and these comforts.

  Not that he cared, though. It was all an act, really. The wine. The girls. The lounging. He couldn’t have them realizing how worried he was about Briand. Not after that little cur of a dragonsayer boy had announced to everyone that he was in love with her.

  As he was lifting the cup to his lips, the door to his chambers swung open and hit the wall with a slam. Auberon startled, jostling his wine. He hissed a curse as the liquid dripped onto his hand through holes in the jointed metal glove. That was going to be sticky later.

  The Seeker looked up and saw with a flare of fury who had disturbed him.

  Kael.

  The traitor strode inside the suite and looked around with undisguised disgust. It was quite possibly the most emotion Auberon had ever seen on the Monarchist’s face. Perhaps the man of stone had emotions after all. What a revelation.

  Kael pinned his gaze on Auberon, jaw flexing.

  Auberon bristled. How dare that bastard look at him as though he were the problem? What had the Monarchist done to find Briand? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’d come all the way to bloody Nyr to tell them she was still alive, imprisoned somewhere no less, and all they’d done was lock him up and fuss about his presence.

  And still, the Monarchist glared at Auberon as though it were the imprisoned Seeker’s fault that they had no idea where Briand was.

  But Auberon wouldn’t let Kael see his impatience. Impatience was weakness, and Seekers were not weak. Instead, he adopted a languid expression that fit his face like a glove. It was an old strategy, one that served him well. Apathy in the face of another’s passion usually set people off. It unbalanced them, seeing their furor so ignored. And they only further unbalanced themselves when they tried to verbally flagellate him for his disinterest.

  “Ah,” Auberon drawled, his mouth curling in his best poisonous smile, the kind that he used with all the useless nobles in Tasglorn who flocked around Cahan and the upper echelons of the Seeker ranks in hopes of gaining power, or fear of being accused traitors. That smile had always made them flinch and look away in fear. “The captain of Prince Jehn’s guard. What misdeed have I done to merit this honor?”

  He spoke with derision when he said that last word, so Kael wouldn’t miss his utter disdain.

  To Auberon’s secret annoyance, the Monarchist didn’t seem even to hear his mocking words, let alone be bothered by them, as if they were as inconsequential as flies to him. He looked sun-bronzed and hearty, as if he’d come to torment Auberon straight from a round of training in the sun.

  Auberon felt all the weaker next to him, like a cave spider, so long had he been sequestered inside inns and taverns, and now being locked in this room… he was wasting away. A fresh wave of loathing swept through him, and to soothe himself, the Seeker imagined himself pressing a palm to the other man’s forehead, sending a lightning bolt of pain through him, bringing him to his knees.

  That would be satisfying.

  But Auberon wouldn’t do it, even if he did have his hands free. He was here to help his dragon girl. Damn them, but he wanted to anyway. And it didn’t make them right to lock him up, either.

  “What are you doing?” Kael demanded, looking at the masseurs and the girl with her hands on Auberon’s chest. “I heard you had a whole troupe of servants catering to you in here.”

  Auberon rearranged his face into a derisive expression as he leaned back on the couch and sipped his wine. “So what if I do? Is that illegal, a guest of the queen drinking wine and being attended to? I’ve spent a great deal of time in filthy inns in the last few months. I’m overdue to enjoy myself.” His gaze sparked, daring the captain of the guard to strike him for his insolence. He was hungering for a fight. Restless. He felt like bludgeoning someone and being bludgeoned in return. It would be cleansing to be hit, he thought, and it would feel good to have an excuse to bloody the Monarchist.

  Regrettably, Kael did not take the bait.

  “You are a prisoner,” he said. “Not a guest.”

  “It’s more complex than that, traitor, and you know it.”

  Kael didn’t so much as blink at Auberon’s old insulting name for him, and Auberon felt displeased. It was a weak blow anyway—being a traitor to the Seekers was a thing to be proud of here. And, Auberon realized with a pang of annoyance as soon as the word had left his lips, he was a traitor too. A fact he did not want to have pointed out to him, as he had no good rebuttal for it.

  His reflections were trampled by Kael’s determined words as the captain of the Austrisian prince’s guard leaned over him with a glare of pure fury.

  “You should be sleeping. You are our only link to Briand, as you are so fond of reminding us. So, make yourself useful—” Kael reached down and hauled Auberon up by the arm holding the wine goblet. “—by lying down and getting into a dream state.”

  “She’s not likely to be asleep now,” Auberon retorted, his anger flaring. “It’s the middle of the day! Kael,” he added, the word tasting as bitter as poison on his tongue.

  “Now,” Kael commanded in a tone that promised violence if disobeyed. He put his hand between Auberon’s shoulder blades and pushed, sending the Seeker stumbling toward the bedchamber. “If you need some help getting to sleep, I can assist you.” He drew his sword as if planning to knock Auberon over the head with the hilt. “I don’t think anyone would object, either.”

  “Touch me, and I’ll give you the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life,” the Seeker snarled, knocking the blade back with his metal-covered hand. He pointed at the door. “Now, get out. I am the queen of Nyr’s guest here in this room, even if I am a prisoner too. This is a Nyrian chamber, and not part of the Austrisian court. You have no jurisdiction here.”

 

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