by Claire Luana
“No.” Lucas frowned, hesitating. “He said if we want to reach out to tape a letter to the bottom of the sleigh on the carousel at Gemma Park.”
“It’s so very cloak and dagger,” Ella said, rolling her eyes.
“Then it’s settled. Someone else will reach out with this message,” Callidus said. “Remember, we don’t know if he’s compromised.”
Lucas clenched his fists. “I hate not being able to do anything! We’ve been sitting on that island for the past few weeks...” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine.”
“So, who’ll be coming with me?” Griff asked.
“I’ll go,” Ansel said. “I ain’t been in Maradis in years. No one will suspect me of anythin.’”
“Anything but your regular hijinks?” Wren said. For some reason, the idea of Ansel going alone didn’t sit well with her, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. “I’ll go too,” she said.
“You could be recognized too,” Callidus said.
“It’s too dangerous,” Lucas protested.
“Ansel and I skulked around the city for years. We know how to work together and we know where to go to avoid watchful eyes. He shouldn’t go alone. If anything happened, we wouldn’t know.” She looked at Callidus, trying to communicate with her eyes. If he goes alone, what’s to stop him from betraying us to the Apricans—so long as they can pay a higher price? She’d trusted Ansel during her time as a wraith, but those days were a distant memory. Better to keep an eye on him while she got to know the man he’d become.
Lucas raised an eyebrow at Wren, and she shot him an apologetic look that she hoped said, I’ll explain everything later. She hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Lucas about her history with Ansel, and she felt a strange hesitation within her. She shoved past it. There was nothing to worry about. It was all in the past. Lucas would understand that.
“Fine,” Callidus said.
“Okay.” Wren stood, grabbing Lucas’s arm. “I think this meeting is over.”
Wren towed Lucas up on the deck, where the wind whipped her hair and cloak around her. They were underway again, leaving the fog-shrouded Odette Islands behind.
Lucas turned his body so he blocked the wind, pulling her cloak around her and holding it closed before her chest. He looked wild and untamed with that beard, with the dark shadows under his eyes and his legs braced against the tossing of the ship. “You found me,” Lucas said. His slate gray eyes reflected the sky, filled with light as he regarded her. “You figured it out. You’d make an excellent inspector.”
Wren smiled, pulling the chain and the ring out from beneath her dress. She held it up and he examined it, taking it in his fine fingers. “Rutilated quartz. Hooded cormorant. Creepy bird,” she said.
“My great-grandfather, on my mother’s side, grew up on the northernmost island. This was his ring. I knew you’d figure it out.” He grinned at her, and that smile split her heart in two.
Wren wrapped her arms around him, leaning into the warm planes of him. “I’m so sorry. About everything. Virgil. Your mother. Gods, Lucas, it all went so wrong.”
“Hush. It’s not your fault.” He stroked her hair, cradling her head to his chest. Guilt spasmed through her even as she breathed in the scent of him, the feel of Lucas here in the flesh. But she did bear part of the blame. Wren and Hale had gone to the Aprican camp that night to make a deal with the devil. True, she had turned back, but her idea had led Hale down that path. She should have known that he wasn’t stable, that he wouldn’t be able to make good decisions. She had dropped the key to Maradis in their enemy’s lap.
Even as Wren had fantasized about holding Lucas again, this secret had shadowed her thoughts, her dreams. Because she needed to tell him. And by telling him, she very well might lose him.
She’d tell him tomorrow. She just wanted one day to enjoy his presence. To be happy. Was one day too much to ask?
“Wren.” Lucas pulled back.
Her heart stuttered and for a moment, she wondered if he had somehow managed to hear her secret thoughts.
But he continued. “Who is that man? Ansel? How do you know him?”
She sighed. “We knew each other when I was young. When I lived on the streets. He formed a kind of family with some of us. He was like a brother to me for two years.” But even as the words came out, Wren wished she could take them back. That wasn’t entirely true, was it? But there was nothing between her and Ansel now, nothing for Lucas to worry about. She had just gotten Lucas back, and there was no need to complicate things so soon, was there?
“A brother,” Lucas said slowly. “What happened? Why haven’t you ever spoken of him?”
“A misunderstanding,” she assured him. “We’ve worked it out.”
“I don’t like him,” Lucas said.
Wren let out a bark of a laugh. “I’d be surprised if you did. He’s a cocky bastard.”
“You knew him a long time ago. Are you sure we can trust him?”
“I’m not sure we can trust anyone anymore,” she said.
“Except us.” Lucas kissed her forehead.
“Right,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Except us.” Except the little voice inside her head was whispering too, You can’t trust anyone, Lucas. Not even me.
The twilight breeze blew unseasonably warm, and everyone was in fine spirits. They had accomplished their mission of retrieving the heir to the throne, vanquishing an enemy vessel in the process. The Phoenix’s cuisinier, an old sailor as gnarled and twisted as the walking stick he used, made a particularly tasty stew, using the last of the ship’s halibut. The spices of cardamom and chili warmed her, as did Lucas’s presence, as he sat tucked securely at her side. One of Pike’s men struck up a tune on a fiddle, and a bottle of some powerful liquor was passed around.
The sailors started dancing, a hornpipe with pantomimed motions of hoisting the sails and climbing the rigging. Wren and Lucas and the others clapped along, drawn into the enchantment of the fiddle.
And then Callidus appeared with his mandolin, a shy smile on his face, his black locks falling over his eyes. A great cry went up and after a brief discussion between the musicians, a new tune was selected, a reel that wove the dancers around each other like a pretzel.
Callidus’s fingers flew across the strings, and Lucas looked at Wren with amazement. “He’s phenomenal!”
“I know.” She laughed. “Little known secret.”
“Care to dance, Miss Confectioner?” Lucas stood, offering a hand to her. “Let’s see what a mess we can make of this.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Lucas and Wren wove in among the other dancers, Dash and Olivia, Ansel and reluctant Ella—even Pike and Griff took a turn. The steps were simple enough, and though Lucas and Wren managed to step on each other a few times in the beginning, they began to catch on, whirling and laughing amongst the other dancers. When the song ended, Lucas tilted her back and kissed her thoroughly.
Wren and Lucas collapsed back in their seats, and Wren caught sight of another couple across the circle, twined together as if the crowd were a distant thought, and the world was only the two of them. Wren’s heart squeezed with joy as Trick brushed Thom’s blond curls off his forehead, leaned in close, and kissed him.
“Look,” Wren said, a breathless laugh bubbling forth.
“Good for them,” Lucas said as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, his nose nestled in her hair. “Trick and I spent many glasses of wine discussing the finer features of the members of the Confectioner’s Guild.”
Wren looked sideways at him, smiling. “You knew?”
“He told me,” Lucas said. “He was nervous as hell about telling Thom.”
Wren snorted. “Same for Thom.”
The warm buzz of Lucas’s whisper in her ear pulled her from her thoughts. “Do you think we can sneak away unnoticed? I’d like to show you how much I’ve really missed you.”
Wren threaded her hand in his and pulled him across t
he deck, away from the revelers. Her, Thom, and Callidus’s cabin would be empty. They had time.
With Lucas at her side, the world felt right again. As if her vision had cleared, the fog of doubt burned away by the sunshine of his presence. He brought out the best in her. He was all she needed to be happy. Lucas and a little chocolate shop somewhere. Not politics or the fates of nations. Not covert operations, or mysteries to solve, or crises to avert. Just life. Love. Could she have that?
They ducked below deck, and Lucas pressed her against the wood planks of the hallway, his hungry mouth on hers. She reveled in the taste of him, the spice of the stew, the bite of the liquor on his lips. His hands roved over her body, searching, desperate, tangling in her hair, grasping the back of her neck to pull her closer.
“My cabin’s that way,” she gasped, managing to pull back from him, from the blood thrumming in her veins and addling her mind.
“Too far,” he said jokingly into her neck, trailing kisses over her ear, her neck, down onto her collarbone.
“Come on.” She pushed him.
With a little growl of frustration, Lucas took her hand, leading her down the corridor. She shoved into their little cabin.
“Cozy,” Lucas said, spinning her back against the door, slamming it shut.
Wren’s breath hitched in her throat as Lucas pressed the hard length of himself against her. She felt lost in him—his arms, his kiss, the sweet rosemary scent of him. His beard scratched her face, but she didn’t care. She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him close. She didn’t think she could draw him close enough.
He hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked to the bed. He laid her down gently before lowering his weight on top of her.
He drew back, kissing her eyelids, her nose, her lips, punctuating each word with a kiss. “You are without a doubt, the craziest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. Once again, I owe you my life.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said jokingly, swallowing at his sudden seriousness.
He shook his head reverently, tracing the line of her collarbone with a finger. “I won’t let you diminish what you’ve done. You saved us. Ella, Trick. You saved our lives again.”
“It was selfish really,” she managed, her voice catching in her throat. “You see, I don’t want to live life without you.”
He kissed her gently, his gray eyes searching hers. “Whatever happens from here, I’ll be by your side. Always. You have my promise.”
Wren pulled his mouth to hers, burying his words with a kiss. Shoving down deep her fear that it was a promise Lucas couldn’t keep.
Chapter 33
Spirit Bay and the Port of Maradis looked no different than they had left it. The low gray sky, the drizzling rain. The thick wall of rocks forming the breakwater, the red cranes unloading ships of goods for the city. The jutting skyline of office towers and churches.
Yet somehow, it felt different. Wren didn’t know what was waiting for her within those walls. Apprehension filled her.
“She’s a pretty city,” Captain Griff said from Wren’s side, putting a booted foot up on the lower rail of her ship, the Sea Witch. Ansel and Wren had transferred aboard to head into the city.
“Have you spent much time here?”
“Just a day or two here or there when I was delivering goods. I’ve a friend who lives here.” Nostalgia flashed in her green eyes. “Well, haven’t talked to him in years. An old friend.”
“You never thought to berth here?” Wren asked.
“Alesia’s Merchant Guild charges the hell out of everyone, but their own members worst of all. I make more money calling Port Gris my home base. Plus, never liked it in cities. Too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous?” Wren asked. “How could life at sea be less dangerous than living in a city?”
“Cities are filled with people,” Griff said.
True enough.
“You should probably get below deck,” Griff said. “We’re approaching the breakwater. You can sit in my cabin. They usually just inspect the hold.”
“And if they inspect more?” Wren asked, suddenly feeling that this was a very bad idea.
“Then I’d hope that luck of yours holds.”
But Wren thought it would. She’d gone below deck and snagged two more truffles before they’d left the Phoenix.
Ansel waggled his fingers at her as she ducked below deck. They had decided it would be best if Wren kept out of sight, given the slight chance that someone would recognize her. For all she knew, the emperor hadn’t noticed their absence, but on the rare chance that he had...she didn’t want to compromise the mission. They needed to get in touch with the Falconer. And pray he hadn’t been turned.
Griff’s captain’s cabin was austere and neat, unlike Pike’s with its array of colorful trinkets, Ferwish lanterns, and Centese rugs. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the practical furnishings—everything was dark colors, sturdy fabrics, items hooked or corralled onto surfaces so they wouldn’t slide off when the ship tossed with the waves. There were a few pieces of evidence that Griff liked nice things—a crystal decanter of wine, a silver hairbrush. And her bed. An oversized thing loaded with pillows. Wren looked at it longingly. Lucas hadn’t let her get much sleep last night. A smile curved onto her face. Well, that was probably the only activity that she was willing to give up sleep for.
Shouts outside and a shuddering movement told her that they’d docked. She looked out the porthole to see Aprican legionnaires strolling up the dock. Her hands tightened in her skirt inadvertently and she backed away from the window. She ran to the door and closed it, trying to steady her nerves. It was fine. Griff had said they would only search the hold. Just to be safe, Wren retrieved the bit of wax paper from her pocket and popped one of Thom’s truffles into her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight as the chocolate melted onto her tongue. It was flavored with crushed violet flower and mint.
Wren pressed her ear to the door as she chewed the second truffle, a burnt caramel bergamot with a topping of candied orange zest, trying to make out what was being said. It was impossible; all she could hear was the pounding of boots and the stern timbre of male voices. Wren went to the little bar and retrieved one of the crystal glasses, pressing it against the door to hear.
“I assure you—” Griff’s voice sprang into sharp relief. “There is no need to search my cabin. It’s entirely against precedent.”
“Under King Imbris,” the man was countering. “But King Imbris doesn’t rule Maradis any longer.” Footsteps were coming this way.
The glass almost fell from Wren’s hand, but she managed to catch it. She ran and returned it to the table before looking around frantically. Apparently, two truffles weren’t going to be enough. Where could she hide on this cursed vessel? Wren frantically searched through drawers and cabinets, but everything was packed tightly with goods and gear.
The voices were at the door now. Wren’s panicked sight caught on the giant pile of pillows. She dove for it, worming her way under them, curling against the headboard in a little ball.
The door opened, and a handsome blond man with short hair strode in, Griff behind him, her eyes wild. “I assure you,” Griff said. “I don’t smuggle and I don’t have stowaways. There’s nothing to find.”
“I’m sure you understand why I have to do more than take your word for it.” The man began opening cupboards and cabinets, stomping on boards to test for hidden troves. He approached the bed and leaned over the pillows, pushing against the headboard, testing for squeaks.
Wren held her breath until she thought her lungs would burst, peering through a tiny crack between pillows.
The man leaned back, apparently satisfied, and turned to another part of the room. Captain Griff caught Wren’s eye, her own widening in recognition. She quickly stepped up and moved a pillow slightly, cutting off Wren’s vision, standing next to the bed.
Finally, after the minutes stretched on, the man appeared satisfied.<
br />
“Very well, Captain,” he said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“You finished?” Griff asked stiffly.
“Indeed.”
The two of them left the room, and when the door clicked shut, Wren let out a shaky breath.
Wren stayed under the pillows until Griff and Ansel returned to the captain’s quarters.
“Made yourself a little nest, did ya?” Ansel asked, pulling a pillow off of her, revealing her face. “Looks comfy. Room for two?”
“With you? Never,” Wren said, pushing out of the pillows and standing, straightening her dress.
Griff threw back a finger of amber liquid in one of the crystal glasses. “Too close for comfort,” she said.
“What were they looking for?” Wren asked.
“Didn’t say,” Griff said. “But they’re watching these docks like hawks. Not sure if you’ll be able to sneak off undetected.”
“Wren and I are excellent sneakers,” Ansel said, slinging an arm around Wren’s shoulder.
The gesture reminded her of Hale. She angled her body, sliding out from under his arm. “We’ve gotten through the hard part. We need to try. This might be our only chance to make contact with the Falconer.”
Griff poured herself another drink and threw that back too. “Fine. It’s your neck on the line. If you’re sure.
Wren wasn’t particularly sure. It was her neck on the line. It always felt like her neck on the line lately. She longed for the interminable days in Master Oldrick’s shop making row after row of confections. “Think I can get a nip of that?”
“Now we’re talkin’!” Ansel said.
Wren just rolled her eyes.
They waited until midnight, when the guard shift changed. The docks seemed surprisingly well lit, leaving few shadows for skulking. Wren and Ansel, dressed in dark cloaks, tiptoed off the vessel onto the dock, hurrying across the wharf and ducking behind a stack of boxes.
Wren’s skin was charged with heightened awareness.
Ansel motioned when the coast was clear and they darted across the open space between the docks and the nearest warehouse building, sheltering in its shadow.
