by Boone Brux
Jacob’s gaze cut to Rhys. “Will you and the lady be…sharing a room?”
“No,” Rhys said.
Embarrassment heated Ravyn’s cheeks.
Jacob’s eyebrows disappeared into his blond hair. “So it’s like that?”
Ravyn scowled, her mood darkening again. “It’s not like anything.”
He laughed and slapped Rhys on the back. “I see why you like her. She’s a feisty one.”
Rhys refused to look at her and didn’t respond.
A coy smile remained plastered to Jacob’s face. “I bet Luc likes you. Probably put him in his place, eh?”
“He’s her lap dog,” Rhys snapped.
Ravyn blushed and Jacob laughed. Somebody should have warned her it wasn’t the Council she had to be wary of.
She ignored the men as they traveled through Illuma Grand, staring into some of the rooms they passed. Each room held something different—children in classes, people gathered around a large table, waving their hands and debating, and rows of tables where several people sat hunched, scribbling on parchment paper. There was even a room filled with what looked like science experiments. Small, blue flames burned under bubbling pots and glass bowls. She craned her neck, trying to see more but only caught a final glimpse of what looked like the large skeletal structure of a…dragon?
“What’s happened since I was last here?” Rhys asked.
“Very little, I’m afraid. Mainly gossip and speculation.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Since there is nothing else to keep their minds occupied.”
“Aren’t the meetings and assemblies enough?” Rhys drawled.
Jacob gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Many of the Council members have started making more decisions and asking less from those who live here. I’ve heard grumblings. Many believe the Council is trying to gain control over Illuma Grand.”
Rhys lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you believe the missing Bringers have been taken by the Bane?”
“Hard to tell.” Jacob gave a little shrug. “There are no signs of struggle. Some of us have been discreetly investigating, but we’ve found nothing yet.”
“Aren’t you a member of the Council?” Ravyn asked.
“Barely. A specific few make the majority of the decisions. They conspire to control the vote. Most decisions directly benefit them, but they assure us it’s for the greater good,” Jacob said.
“Not surprising,” Rhys said. “Their scheming is one of the reasons I didn’t want Ravyn to meet with them.”
“About that.” Jacob turned down another long corridor. “The Council would like to meet with you immediately, Rhys.”
“Now?”
“Yes, but only you. They’d like an update on your activities. They want to meet with Ravyn tomorrow morning.” He paused. “Alone.”
Rhys stopped. “No.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to convince them to let you attend, but they overrode me.” He turned to Ravyn. “Fromme Bagita was quite insistent.”
For the first time all day, Rhys really looked at her. Anxiety rolled off him and shivers skittered across her as his energy openly caressed and enfolded her.
Surprisingly, Ravyn wasn’t afraid. She turned to Jacob. “Can Rhys wait outside? Be there if I need him?”
“Of course.” He clasped Rhys on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
She peered at him, wondering if he’d take a stand and demand to be with her, secretly hoping he would. Not that she could truly be sure of his reason, caring for her or doing his duty and protecting her. After several long seconds, Rhys gave a single nod of agreement. His acquiescence left the faint taste of betrayal in her mouth. Neither lover nor protector, he’d leave her to face the Council with barely a fight.
The three continued their trek until finally stopping at the end of the corridor.
“I secured these adjoining rooms for you. You must make sure you and Luc exit from this door and Ravyn exits from her door. I know it seems ridiculous, but we don’t need to make waves over something easily avoidable.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she nodded. Sadness pinched her heart. There would be no reason for her to exit Rhys’s door.
Clean, simple, and very sparse were the first impressions that came to mind when she stepped inside the chamber. From the impressive entrance and elegant beauty of the main area, she’d expected something a little grander. This room reminded her of her cell at the abbey, but was not nearly as oppressive.
She turned to Lord Le Daun. “Thank you. It’s very…organized.”
“It is that, my lady. And so are the people.” Jacob moved farther into the room. “They are also predictable, punctual, and proper.”
“Sounds rather boring,” she muttered.
“Exactly. Perhaps you will add a little spice to their lives. I daresay your outfit has already inspired an array of tittle-tattle.”
A young man carrying their belongings knocked on the open door. “Your things, my lady.”
“Thank you,” Jacob said. He pointed to the bed. “Set them over there.”
The man unloaded her items and ducked out of the room before she had a chance to thank him. Very efficient and a little skittish. She untied her dirty, worn bag and surveyed the items inside, pulling out her tome and Bowen’s journal. Perhaps she’d look at them while Rhys was gone.
“Can you meet with the Council now, Rhys?” Jacob called.
Rhys stepped into her room. “Will you be all right? I’ll only be gone a short while.”
“I’ll be fine.” She laid the books onto the bed. “Besides, I’m a little tired. Maybe I’ll take a nap.”
“I’ll ask for them to serve us dinner in our rooms tonight.”
Jacob held up his hand. “Leave that to me.”
He walked to a tall, thin cabinet beside the door and opened it. A thick, silk rope hung inside with a bell positioned at the top. He reached in and yanked on the rope. Ravyn was surprised that the bell didn’t ring.
“When you hear this bell ring,” he said, pointing inside the cabinet, “You open this door.” He tugged open a small, square door she hadn’t noticed. “The food will be waiting inside. When you’ve finished, place the dishes back inside and pull the rope.” He closed the door. “Somebody will be by to collect them.”
She smiled. “Very clever.” Tonight, at least, she wouldn’t be subjected to any more stares or whispers. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, my lady.”
Rhys followed Jacob out of the room. Before drawing the door shut, he said, “Lock it.”
Her hand hovered on the lock. She glanced over her shoulder to the two books lying on her bed. Would she have enough time to look at his father’s journal? With Rhys putting more and more distance between them, she might never get another chance to see inside the diary. As far as she knew, he still hadn’t read it.
She opened her door and peeked out. The hall was empty. Ducking inside, she locked her door and then Rhys’s. If he came back early, she’d have time to replace his journal. She rifled through his bag, pawing over his clothes until her fingers found the rectangular lump. Her hands shook and heart raced as she lifted the book from the sack. This felt wrong. He’d be furious if he found out she’d read it. Willa had been right. It felt like trespassing on somebody’s private thoughts.
This was no time for guilt, however, and there was no room for hesitation. Not when others depended on her, and not when the journal’s contents could save her life. Maybe the words of Rhys’s father would provide much-needed answers to their questions. The leather felt cool under her fingers as she hurried to the bed and sat. She reached into her boot and removed the dagger, its metal hilt warm from her body. After placing the knife on a low table, she kicked off her boots and climbed onto the bed. With infinite care, she pried open the covers of the diary.
Lines flowed in a beautiful script, the letters forming words that tugged at Ravyn’s heart and made tears pool in her
eyes. He wrote of the life they’d left behind and how he missed it. They were words of love from a man to his wife, and from a father to his son, sentiments that confirmed what Ravyn believed but Rhys couldn’t accept—he had been his father’s pride and joy, and nothing Rhys did would ever change that.
She turned the pages, reading as quickly as she could but not wanting to miss a single sentence. His father told of the Bane and his worry that Vile grew stronger. He penned his frustration at not knowing where the immortal weapons were hidden. The words on the parchment illustrated the happiness and hardships of Rhys’s early years, his parents’ love, and all he had lost the day they died.
Her finger slid behind the paper and turned the page. She froze. A daggerhad been painstakingly reproduced in the journal. She picked up her weapon from the table and laid it next to the book.
“It’s the same,” she whispered.
Small writing ran along the edges of the page. She held the book closer and squinted at the script.
In death there is life, in sacrifice, return.
All barriers destroyed and evil be spurned.
No hindrance remain, from our blood be renewed,
that which was taken, settle in those who Bring true.
She shook her head. “What does it mean?” The text dipped along the crease of the pages. She turned the book and pressed it open.
Speak the words before death. Those who Bring true will be served.
A ruckus erupted outside the door. Panic shot through Ravyn. She jumped off the bed, raced to Rhys’s room, and shoved the journal into his bag. As quietly as possible, she slid the bolt on his door and jogged to her room. Loud thuds sounded near the base of her door.
“Who is it?”
“Luc,” he grunted.
Ravyn opened her door.
A large trunk was perched precariously on one of his shoulders, and he held a smaller wooden box under his arm. He scowled. “A little help, please.”
“Sorry.” She pulled open the door and retrieved the smaller box. He pushed past her and tramped into the room, setting the crate at the foot of her bed. Ravyn stuck her head out the door before closing it. Three women watched from down the hall, their expressions stony. So much for discretion.
“How many gowns did you bring?” he said. “This is heavy.”
She shut the door and faced him. “I only brought one gown. These are my weapons—crossbow, arrows, and a few short spears.”
“You must have an entire arsenal in there.”
“Well, you know how we girls are, Luc. If I wear my black leather, then my crossbow looks nice. If I’m wearing green, then a nice thin saber or short spear is the weapon of choice.”
He shook his head. “You’re the only woman I know who accessorizes her artillery.”
“Functionality is no reason to disregard fashion,” she teased. “So, did you get Jade settled?”
“Yes,” he snapped. He stood and paced across the room. “There’s something off about that woman.”
“She may be a bit of an eccentric, but she saved my life—all our lives.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Still there’s something about her. She’s too secretive…and irritating.” He raised his voice to imitate Jade. “Give me back my bag. Don’t escort me. Stop following me. Put me down.”
Ravyn blinked. “Put me down?”
“She wouldn’t stay where I told her to so I picked her up and carried her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. The woman needs a good lesson in humility.”
“Luc.” Ravyn shook her head. “You’re dense.”
“Me? I wasn’t the one screeching like a banshee.” He dropped onto the chair with a sigh.
“I think you like her.”
“Like her? I’d rather contract the plague than be around her. I was watching her because you told me to. Remember?”
“I remember, but I also tried to tell you I’d changed my mind about her being involved with the Bane.”
He grunted as if unconvinced.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “So what did you find out?”
He rose from the chair and paced. “Nothing.”
“Did you kiss her?”
Luc stopped and looked at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“A great deal.”
Rhys opened her door and stopped. His gaze rebounded between her and Luc as he hovered in the doorway. He pinned her with his icy stare tinged with—was that jealousy?
“What’s going on?”
She ignored the flutter in her stomach. “Luc likes Jade.”
“I do not.” Luc pointed at her and said to Rhys, “How can you stand her? She’s so irritating.”
Rhys said nothing, only continued to stare.
“How’d the meeting go?” Ravyn asked him.
Luc perked up. “You met with the Council already?”
“Yes. They don’t trust me.”
“From what I hear,” Luc said, “they don’t trust anyone, including one another.”
“What did you tell them?” Ravyn asked.
“Exactly what they asked for and nothing more. Fromme Bagita wasn’t very happy with me.” Rhys seemed extremely satisfied with himself. “He took an exceptional dislike to my answers.”
“You weren’t supposed to antagonize them,” Ravyn said.
“I simply answered their questions.”
“Don’t you mean answered their questions simply?” Luc asked.
“You’re splitting hairs,” Rhys said. “They already know I’m difficult. They would become suspicious if I was suddenly cooperative.”
“When do I meet with them?” She couldn’t keep her voice from wavering.
He sighed. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll escort you. I want them to know you’re protected.”
For once, she would happily let him play protector and savior. The bell chimed in the cabinet, breaking the tension in the room. Rhys opened the cubby door to reveal three platters heaping with hot, delicious-smelling food. They each gathered a dish and carried it to the round table in the middle of Ravyn’s chamber. Within minutes, a meal fit for royalty had been set. Her mouth watered as she bent and inhaled the savory aroma of duck, tiny potatoes, and some vegetable she couldn’t identify, with a platter of sugar cakes and tarts for dessert. If she kept eating like this, she’d have to revisit Madam Turner to purchase bigger leathers.
They spent the rest of the evening eating and speculating on what the Council would do during its interrogation. After the fifth time being told not to reveal her firepower, Ravyn yawned. She moved to her bed and lay down, her head sinking into the pillow. “I understand. No fire.”
Luc stood and stretched. “I’m off to bed. I’ll be here in the morning to escort you as well.”
Ravyn’s heart swelled at his protective nature. “Thank you.”
Rhys rose, and gazed at her for several seconds.
She stared back, wondering what he was thinking, hoping he would stay.
“Get a good night’s sleep,” he said.
He scooted back the chair and walked to the adjoining door. She mentally sighed. Nobody could accuse Rhys of being weak-willed.
Luc’s brow knit, his look silently asking her what was wrong.
Ravyn shrugged.
He scowled.
She shook her head, telling him not to push the issue.
Then he shrugged.
The entire silent conversation happened before Rhys reached his door.
“Coming, Luc?” he asked over his shoulder.
Luc picked up a small berry tart and popped it in his mouth. “Good night, Ravyn.”
“Good night.”
He was like a large child at times. She smiled as he left the room licking his fingers. Rhys glowered at him and pulled the door between their rooms shut.
She climbed out of bed and stacked the dishes inside the cubby. After giving the bell pull a yank, she stripped off her clothes. Cool night air bru
shed her skin and sent tiny goose bumps along her arms. She rummaged in her bag and her fingers grazed the purple gown Madam Turner had given her. The material shimmered as she slid it across her hand. She’d brought it on a whim, a decision that now made her feel foolish. She laid the dress over the back of the chair.
The quiet click of the lock echoed around her silent chamber. She scowled at the door. What did Rhys think? She was so madly in love with him she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself? Arrogant oaf.
Chapter Twenty-three
Morning came too quickly. Ravyn rolled onto her back and jumped when her gaze fell on Rhys. He sat in the straight-backed chair, watching her. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Was she dreaming? “What are you doing here?”
“I think you should wear a gown to see the Council,” he said.
“What?” She sat up and stretched. The sheet pooled around her waist, exposing her thin shift. She noticed his eyes linger on her breasts. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to her as he’d like to believe. “Why?”
He rubbed his hand over the black stubble on his face. “You look too formidable in your leathers. Your gown will make you appear less threatening. The Council may even underestimate you.”
She answered with an unladylike snort. “I think I’ve forgotten how to act meek.”
“Just be yourself. This group is drunk on its own importance. They won’t want to believe you’re more powerful than they are.” He paused and lifted his arm. The flimsy purple gown dangled from his fingers. “What is this?”
Ravyn cleared her throat and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She walked across the room, plucked the garment from his hand, and stuffed the dress into her bag. She turned to face him. “A gift.”
He fired his next question. “From whom?”
“A friend.” She let the innuendo hang in the air. If he was jealous, so much the better. “Now, please leave so I can get dressed.”
He stood and stared at her, his unasked questions filling the room. She stared back, not willing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
A knock on his chamber door pulled Rhys’s attention from her. He stomped into his room and closed the adjoining door. Not wasting any time, Ravyn dressed in her one conservative blue gown and leather boots. She dug a wooden brush from her bag and tried to tame her mass of hair. With deft fingers, she divided and plaited the strands into a single, thick braid, then surveyed herself in the mirror.
