His lips twitched. He suppressed a grin. Decoding the letters had lost its urgency.
But there was no better time than the present. With a sigh, he pulled out the chair, dropped into it, and worked, finishing the cipher.
Then, letter by letter, line by line, he decoded them all, transcribing them onto clean pages.
...three thousand strong... led by General Gilles... Courdeval...
He set down the quill and leaned back in the chair. So Leigh had been right. Three thousand Crag Company mercenaries in the capital.
And Gilles himself.
Jon rested his palm on Faithkeeper’s pommel. He’d arrest Gilles. At the earliest opportunity.
Vengeance was against the Code, and as much as he’d called it justice, it was merely a white scabbard for a black blade. But he wouldn’t lower himself to Gilles’s level by killing him. No, the Order would deal with him.
He heaved a sigh. When Rielle had killed Flame, he’d scolded her for not interrogating him first. Interrogating Gilles was risky. If he somehow escaped—
He won’t.
He drew in a deep breath, picked up the quill, and continued.
Heartseekers... Black Mountain Brigands... cut off movement to and from Monas Amar...
He frowned. The Black Mountain Brigands? They were bandits, highwaymen, but in recent years, they’d become better organized than most such groups. Gilles used them? Or whoever had hired Gilles had also hired the Heartseekers and the Black Mountain Brigands.
A massive effort.
A costly effort.
And if there were Heartseekers and Black Mountain Brigands surrounding Monas Amar, then he, Rielle, and Leigh would have their work cut out for them. But at least they could prepare.
He blew on the page’s fresh ink and set it aside with the others. Outside the balcony window, the sky was already aflame with the intense orange-red of the setting sun.
The whole day had gone by, and Rielle still hadn’t returned.
He rose, strode through the balcony doors, and looked out toward the city. The red burned hottest there, molten, bright.
Burned.
He squinted, staring far into the distance at the brightest spot. A trick of the light. Had to be.
I gave my word.
Everything was fine, or he would have heard otherwise.
A creak. The hallway door.
He turned.
A young woman flush against an invisible barrier.
He dove.
A fast blade. Two. Three.
Thud. Shatter. Thud. Two blades embedded in the window pane, one through the glass.
Crouched behind the bed, he peeked out to the doorway, quickly pulled back. A throwing knife flew past the bed post and thunked into the upholstered wall.
A grunt from the doorway.
The woman was wearing the duchess’s violet and white. A member of the household. Could she get through the ward?
He unclipped Faithkeeper from his belt. In this room, it would be useless. Across the bed, on the nightstand, was his dagger.
If he peeked out from cover one more time, she’d throw, and he’d have a window of a few seconds to roll to the other side of the bed, grab the dagger, and take cover behind the—
Footsteps. Two light ones. On the balcony.
Warded... Was the balcony warded? Clenching a fist, he angled toward the balcony doors, shrouded in whispering white sheer panels. Whoever came in would regret it.
Platinum-white hair swept up by the wind. A blurred radius—a repulsion shield. Leigh.
He walked in through the balcony doors, knives glancing off his shield spell, then raised his arm.
A broken shriek.
Jon glanced out from cover toward the doorway, where the woman hovered in the air, whimpering, her body smaller and smaller, blood trailing from her nostrils, her mouth, her ears, her eyes—
He looked away. A crunch and a squelch ended the whimpers. A heavy thud hit hard marble.
Leigh dispelled his shield, straightened his waistcoat and overcoat, then approached. He cleared his throat and smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Much.” Being alive helped. He stood, keeping a watchful eye on the doorway. “All this time, and you didn’t visit until now. Should I be offended?”
Leigh shrugged. “I would have loved to see my surly former apprentice hand-feeding you and tending you like a puppy. Alas, I’ve grown quite fond of my jewels, and the duchess once promised to relieve me of them if I ever showed my handsome face at Prevost Castle again.”
“Handsome?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Did she really say that?”
“I do have very prominent cheekbones,” Leigh drawled, raising his chin and angling his face this way and that. “She might be jealous.”
“So what are you doing here?”
Leigh bowed his head, and when he looked up once more, all levity was gone. “It’s Rielle. She went into fureur.”
Chapter 51
Shivering, Rielle opened her aching eyes. Her forehead pulsed with a staggering headache, but she was alive and—she shifted, sinking into a mattress—in a bed. Ghostly fingers grasped toward her anima through a gossamer net, pushing, prodding, reaching, and she shook them off.
Spiritseve draws ever near.
Anima withdrawal. She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Her hand was bare but for Jon’s Sodalis ring.
So was her arm.
And the rest of her.
She squirmed, raised the coverlet. Naked.
Warm, diffused twilight glowed through the single window, shimmering on the plain furnishings clinging to wooden walls. Nearly dark. On a small, crude table, an old bottle housed a few spikes of hooded amethyst blooms. Monkshood.
Tensing, she checked herself for injuries. What had happened? Where were her clothes?
The door opened. Brennan, bare to the waist, held a dirty curtain wrapped around his hips. His face lit up.
“You’re awake.” He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked beneath his weight.
She sat up, carefully covering herself. “Where are your clothes?” She bit her lip. “And mine, for that matter?”
With a sigh, he eyed her, and a corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin. “You burned them, along with everything else not immune to magic in the tunnels below Nilda’s.”
Of course. She’d executed Phantom, burnt the woman to ash. Her stomach rolled, bleeding a queasy malaise throughout her body.
There had been no humanity to it. No mercy.
And Jon—
Brennan glanced at the Sodalis ring. “When I grabbed you, the stone of that ring touched you—the arcanir, I assume, stopped you.”
The battle fury—the battle fury had taken over. No, fureur had taken over. She swallowed. If not for the ring—“Brennan, what have I done?”
He shrugged. “The Mélange was on fire—”
“The Mélange?” Her breath caught in her throat. An entire district? “Is everyone...”
“—but they found some hedge-witch pyromancer to put it out... who is now conveniently also a suspect.” He shrugged again. “Some smugglers, Heartseekers, and that Crag Company mage captain dead. Sen’a peddlers. Maybe a few trancers... whoever was around the resonance den. But don’t worry—the fire didn’t even come close to the castle.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Only commoners.”
She clutched the covers, bunching them up at her chest. Divine, she’d gone into fureur and... killed. Perhaps even innocent people. She raked fingers into her hair, held her head.
“Look at me.” Brennan rested a hand on her knee, and she raised her heavy head. “I haven’t heard anything about deaths other than those in the resonance den. Those below deserved it, and those above... The fire wasn’t instantaneous. They escaped.”
Escaped. Yes. Maybe they escaped. She scraped fingernails through her hair. No reason to believe innocents had died. Reports would come in if they did, wouldn’t they?
That was wishful thinking. No, she’d confess to Gran. Take responsibility. It was the right thing to do. The only thing.
She took a deep breath and looked around the room. “Where are we?”
“Bonny’s,” he replied. “It’s a brothel, but it was the closest place to Nilda’s I could take you, wrapped only in this curtain as you were.” He nodded to the fabric around his waist.
“If I was wrapped in that curtain, what were you—”
He cracked a smug smile. “No one complained.”
She shook her head, suppressing a laugh. No, they wouldn’t have. She pulled the coverlet even higher, to just under her neck. “Is that everything that happened?”
He stared at the fabric over her chest. Through it. His delinquent gaze met hers. “You have nothing left to hide from me,” he said with a heavy-lidded once-over, “but it’s not as though I had the leisure to really peruse. I was preoccupied with getting us out of there before the sen’a and trux barons discovered their inventory had been destroyed. I brought us here, rented the room on my good name, and washed the... ash off both of us.”
Warmth rose in her face.
Thumping from the other side of the wall interrupted the silence. Could—
“And no, obviously I didn’t violate you.”
Of course not. After all they’d just been through, it was ridiculous to even consider. She couldn’t help but laugh. Nervously. “I know.”
With a grin teasing his lips, he planted his hands on the bed, trapping her hips, and leaned in, less than a whisper away, his breath warm on her skin. “And when I do finally fuck you, I’ll expect a lot more than you lying there like a dead fish.” That grin turned wicked.
Sucking in a breath, she shoved him away. “Idiot.” She held the coverlet closer, her fingers bunched up so tight in the rough cotton that they ached.
He laughed and rose, then strode to the window, where his mirth faded as he looked out. “He’s here—”
“Who?” They had no clothes, no coin, and now a visitor was coming?
“—and he brought a friend.”
“Who did?”
He scowled over his shoulder. “Phantom mentioned the Red Room and your commoner, so I sent a message to your former master. Better he check and make certain the bitch was lying.”
She flinched. He’d written Leigh about checking Jon? Her every muscle tensed. Breathe. “Is he all right? Tell me. Is he?”
He lit an oil lamp on the table with a match. “Calm down, woman. He’s here, isn’t he?”
“Don’t tell me to—” Here? He was here?
Footsteps thundered down the hallway’s creaky floorboards, and she smoothed her hair and wiped her face but sighed at the futility. There was no way to preserve her dignity here. Jon and her former master would walk through that door, find her compromised under a blanket, hiding nakedness and weakness beneath. Knowing she’d started a fire in the Mélange. And she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
A pronounced knock on the door, and Brennan opened it.
Jon pushed past, his cobalt-blue cloak trailing, and stormed to her side. Wild eyed, he took a knee and glided assessing hands over her covered limbs, cupped her face. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, clutching the coverlet tight. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.” His gaze dropped to her fisted hands.
Boots clicked from the hallway. Leigh strode in, bearing a leather satchel and a bitter smile. An unfastened black master’s coat hung from his shoulders over a golden-yellow brocade waistcoat, white shirt, trousers, and polished black boots. He looked every bit the magister he’d once been, power donned like perfectly tailored finery.
His dark eyes found hers, cold as shadow, making her shiver. He pressed the satchel to Brennan’s chest and entered, then stopped before the bed and clasped his hands behind his back, lips pressed tight as he peered down at her through dark slits.
She winced. He didn’t need to say a word. Disappointment radiated from him. She met his eyes. “Leigh—”
He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed in a breath.
The words died in her throat.
“I told you,” Leigh growled, “in Bournand, that you needed to make peace with yourself.” He opened his eyes. “Did you hear a word of it?”
She wanted nothing more than to leave, but with no clothes, her gaze fell to the bed, to the wild roses embroidered on the coverlet. She had heard every word. Had committed it to memory.
But making peace with herself... After her family suffering, their deaths, her culpability, how was there any way to make peace? What could possibly relieve the sins of that day?
She shuddered, shutting her eyes to the room, to their reactions. Divine, even now, she could see their faces all anew, ablaze, in pain.
“Rielle!” Leigh shouted, rumbling fury, commanding her attention. “Do you think yourself above the realities we live by? Do you think yourself exempt? Do you?”
The bed shook as he slammed his hands atop it. She started, her eyes flying open. He braced himself on the bed, his eyes wide, livid, and his face hard.
Jon put himself between her and Leigh, facing him, and they rose together, gazes locked. At his full height, his formidable presence dominated the room. “Back off, mage,” he said icily.
The air between them froze, radiating a cold that made her shiver.
Fiery red played beneath Leigh’s skin, flaring—but at last giving way to a banked warmth. “This can’t wait any longer,” he said to Jon. “Even you must see that.”
“It will wait until she’s dressed.” Low. Firm. Jon stood, unmoving, shoulders hard, holding his gaze.
Leigh exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes, and left the room. Jon turned to Brennan, who smiled smugly, shrugged, and followed.
The tension left Jon’s bearing, and he looked over his shoulder. A pile of folded clothes dropped in her lap.
“Thank—”
“We’ll be out in the hall,” he said, the ice still in his voice. “When you’re dressed, we’ll talk.” He strode out of the room and shut the door.
Quiet settled in, and the pile of clothes in her lap felt weightier.
He hadn’t been willing to leave her trapped, forced to take Leigh’s scolding, but that gesture didn’t mean he approved. It didn’t mean he wasn’t angry.
And why shouldn’t he be? She’d nearly burned down the whole city, but for his Sodalis ring. Hearing him out—and Leigh—would be the least of her penance.
She dressed in the delicate undergarments, crisp shirt, trousers, white wool riding coat, and buttery soft boots. Every last button was fastened, and she ran her hands over the coat, smoothing out every last wrinkle.
A glass of water sat at the bedside, and she drained it. A deep breath.
Raised voices came from the hall, and a thud against the wall. A fight?
Rielle rushed out the door.
Brennan’s back was flush against the wall, Jon’s arm pressed against his neck, the point of a dagger at Brennan’s flesh.
He held Jon’s narrowed gaze, a faint grin lingering about his mouth.
Leigh cleared his throat from behind them. “Could we please save the brawl for another time?” Behind him, a small group of women eyed the scene caused by... What, exactly?
“If this commoner can manage to control his temper.” Brennan remained still, calm, smug.
Jon clenched his teeth, glaring, then with a grunt, broke away and sheathed his dagger. He stalked into the room.
“Give them a minute,” Leigh said to Brennan.
Thumping came from across the hall. Again.
Brennan breathed deeply, adventurously. “I’ll give them thirty. Tell me you brought coin.”
Leigh tossed him a small coin purse. Of course. Brennan raised an eyebrow at her, and she nodded. He headed downstairs.
“We’re not done,” Leigh said to her.
“I know,” she whispered.
He followed Brennan.
Eyes
shut, she took a deep breath. Make peace with myself. She exhaled lengthily, returned to the room, and shut the door.
Jon stood at the window, his back to her. The cobalt-blue cloak hung from his shoulders over a brown leather brigandine coat. He rested his hand on his sword’s pommel. There was an alertness, a rigidity to him, like a guard on watch.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way here just to bring me some clothes.”
He turned his head and glared at her coldly, eyes narrowed.
Not the right thing to say. Not right at all.
He drew in a long, deep breath. Some of that rigidity faded, his bearing eased, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “When the sun had nearly set and you hadn’t returned, I thought—” He looked her over with pained eyes. “You’re all right?”
She nodded.
He moved in, held out his hand, and she took it. He ran a finger over the Sodalis ring. “Tell me what happened.”
“First, are you all right? Were you attacked?”
He smoothed some hair from her face. “There was an attacker camouflaged among the duchess’s household, but the ward kept her out, and Leigh dealt with her.”
She’d left Jon alone to be attacked. “I should have been there.”
“Yes, you should have.” He glared at her, but then his expression softened. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Being poisoned… I don’t like being weak. Watching you go into battle while I stay behind. And I just… When I saw that fire…” His eyebrows drew together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. There had been many bad choices to make, but no right one. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“What did happen?”
The resonance den, the loss of the evidence, the fureur, and... It was time to tell him about Laurentine. For whatever existed between them to survive, he had to know whom he loved.
“We found the assassin,” she said. “Well, Brennan did.”
He narrowed his eyes again.
She cleared her throat. “It was Phantom, the third of Gilles’s mage captains. I... defeated her.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “She didn’t tell us anything, but we found a map in the sen’a hub—”
“Sen’a hub?” His hold on her hand tightened briefly.
Blade & Rose (Blade and Rose Book 1) Page 45
