by Amy Hopkins
Her words hit him like a slap in the face. “Polly, I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry. The villagers here know why I’m in their heads, and none of them have said a word about it. I’ve spent so long living in the Mystic Temple, dipping in and out of people’s heads, that sometimes I just forget it’s not polite.”
She opened her mouth again, but he cut her off gently. “I know that’s not an excuse. I really am sorry, though, and I promise I won’t do it again without permission.”
Polly paused, then grumbled, “Fine.”
Now completely out of her head, and with no one around to let him use their eyes, Danil stood in darkness. If he tried, he would be able to see what was happening in the hall—but that would just disorient him. Instead, he waited patiently for Polly to speak.
“I know you think I’m nothing, Danil, but that’s just because I have nothing here.” It was her turn to ignore his protest. “Let me speak. I know whatever you spoke to Seher and George about was important and probably a secret, but at least the theatre troupe has someone to speak on their behalf. I don’t.”
“I… hadn’t thought of it that way,” Danil admitted.
“Seher leads her people. I lead mine. All three of them,” she added, referring to the girls who had fled the brothel with her. “And even though you think I’m just some nuisance tagging along, I have a responsibility to those women, and a right to decide what to do myself. I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Surprised at her reasoned argument, Danil nodded. “Ok. But I still can’t tell you what’s going on. You can’t shield, so if we’ve been infiltrated—which is a possibility—you might not be able to keep our secrets.”
“So, your answer to that was to leave me in the dark completely?”
Danil sighed. “Polly, I don’t have any more experience dealing with any of this than you do. I’m not a leader, or an organizer, or even a damned teacher, no matter what people think. I’m making my own way in the dark, too.”
He gave a wry chuckle at his own words, reflecting how dark it really was when he didn’t have someone else’s sight to rely on.
“Bullshit,” Polly said. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you say it.”
Embarrassed, Danil adjusted his gaze to where he thought she was. “Is this better?”
“You’re a dick.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me out of your head. Do you see anyone else around I can use for eyes?” he snapped. This girl was really getting under his skin.
“What are you talking about?” Polly said. “Use your own damn eyes.”
“Oh.” Danil’s irritation faded. “You don’t know, do you? I’m blind.”
“A blind fool,” Polly muttered. Then, seeing he was serious, she gasped. “Oh. Great, now I look like an asshole, don’t I?”
“Not at all. How were you supposed to know?” Danil offered a reassuring smile. “I pride myself on hiding it, for the most part.”
Polly sighed. “You use other people’s eyes to see, don’t you?” she guessed. “That’s why your magic is always on.”
Danil nodded. “For the most part, I can ‘borrow’ someone’s vision without touching their thoughts. If that person is really emotional, though, sometimes stuff kind of leaks out.”
“That’s why you read my mind.”
Warm skin touched Danil’s arm as the wall beside him thudded gently. He turned his head, guessing she was beside him. “Like I said, no excuse. I knew you were angry about something when you walked up to me; I should have shielded myself off better.”
Silence fell over them, buffered by the sound of two people breathing in the warm morning sun.
Eventually, Danil spoke. “Polly, I don’t know why I keep fighting with you. You’re smart, and strong, and you’re doing your best to look after your people.”
More silence. Then, Polly moved away. “Can we just start again?” she asked.
“Sure,” Danil said easily.
A hand took his and shook it firmly. “Hi. I’m Polly. Polly the prostitute.”
Danil chuckled. “And I’m Danil, the blind fool. Pleased to meet you, Polly.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Adeline sat by her window, looking out. The sun beat on the dirty glass, making her skin damp with sweat. Below, the streets were quiet.
She jumped up when someone knocked at her door. She quickly buttoned her dress to her throat, deciding the stifling heat in the room was worth putting up with to hide every bit of skin possible from that lecherous mental mage.
“Come in,” she called.
To her surprise, the man that entered was tall and young.
“You’re not my father,” she said, noting the irony—it was never her father coming through that door. Just a slimy imposter.
“Ah, of course. You wouldn’t remember me.” The man picked up a seat by her dresser and brought it over to her. “My name is Rogan.”
She didn’t bother to fake surprise. “Of course, you are.” Adeline bit the inside of her mouth, then smiled to soften her words. “My father has told me so much about you.”
“Such spirit.” His eyes locked on hers, refusing to let go. “I thought we might dine together tonight. You could get to know me beyond what your... father has said.”
Adeline angled a glare at him. This man had taken her city from her, had run her father out of town. She didn’t want to dine with him. She wanted to stab him in the throat.
She reached a hand out to touch his, a tiny smile pulling at her mouth as he sucked in a sharp breath. “That sounds wonderful. Will you be joining me in my room?” She hadn’t left this blasted cage in weeks, except to visit the tower to send her messages to Seher.
“Oh, no. The staff have prepared a feast in the dining hall.” Rogan sounded out of breath and his cheeks flushed pink.
Bile rose as Adeline realized she’d practically propositioned him with her poor choice of words. Still, she could work it to her advantage.
Adeline drew her hand away, allowing one finger to trail across his wrist. “I do hope you’ll ask them to bring out the good wine.”
Rogan grinned, chin trembling slightly. “Of course. I’ll do that now. You should come down as soon as you’re dressed.”
He stood and walked quickly to the door, sparing her only the shortest of glances as he left. He looked as if he’d been kissed by the moon.
Adeline flew to her feet, yanking out dress after dress and tossing them on her bed. She picked up one, a brilliant red gown with a startlingly white lace veil. She’d had it made for a masquerade ball, but didn’t think Rogan would know it was a style not usually worn by local women.
Madam Seher’s seamstress had made it, and hidden pockets deep in the skirt for bags of sparkling dust to fling at the ball.
The pockets were perfect to slip a thin dagger in one and a heavy crystal stone in the other. Neither were designed as weapons. The dagger was blunt from the thousands of letters she’d opened with it, and the crystal was a pretty decoration that just happened to have a few jagged edges and some weight to it.
It would have to do. She wasn’t planning on killing Rogan tonight, anyway. She needed more information first. Who was working for him, where, and what would happen to the spells he had cast on them if he died.
Tonight was reconnaissance, and she would do anything it took to get that information out of him. As she touched some pink powder to her face, she smiled. Finally, she was fighting back.
CHAPTER NINE
They met outside the walls of Tahn. Julianne, with Marcus at her side as always, arrived just after sunset. Jakob, the physical mage, and Mathias, Seher’s nature magician, were already waiting for them.
The two made a contrasting pair, Jakob with his close-cropped, jet-black hair and overgrown muscles, Mathias weed-thin with long, blonde hair pulled off his face with a leather cord. Their personalities were so similar, though, they could have been brothers.
Both had a deep appreciation for humor
and hearts soaked with honor. They had ridden ahead of their theatre troupe when Tahn was under attack, lending their magic and their fists to the battle.
They had also drunk their fair share of the victory mead afterwards.
Marcus eyed their horses appraisingly. “Nice,” he commented. “I don’t remember seeing them in town.”
“They’re wild,” Mathias explained.
Marcus stepped back as one of the horses bared its teeth and huffed at him. “Ah. Seher said you’d provide a horse for Adeline?”
Mathias grinned, his white teeth sparkling in the moonlight. “Jakob’s mount is sturdy enough for two.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Mounting his own horse, Marcus looked back at Julianne. She was staring at Mathias, eyes narrowed. “You ready, Jules?”
Snapping out of her deep thoughts, she climbed onto Cloud Dancer and gave the horse a pat. She seemed almost glad to see the gentle mare again—surprising, because as a rule Julianne didn’t like horses.
“Let’s go.” Marcus nudged his horse and left the way out of town, though soon dropped back to speak to Julianne.
Her attention, however, was on Mathias. “Show me your ears,” she said unexpectedly.
“Jules, why in the world—Oh!” Marcus jumped when the nature magician obliged, pulling his hair back to display sharply pointed ears. “You’re a druid?”
“Catches on quick, this one,” Mathias said with a chuckle.
“What are you doing out this way?” Julianne asked.
“I took my Versuch because I couldn’t stand being cloistered in that jungle,” he admitted. “Getting out was like a breath of fresh air, and travelling with the theatre? Every day is like a sip of fine wine after a lifetime of drinking sour milk. Though I loved my family and even the Forest, that life just isn’t for everyone.”
“I can relate to that,” Julianne said with a small smile. She glanced at Marcus, the look of wistfulness almost hidden by the deep shadows of the forest.
“Do you have news of my people?” Mathias asked eventually. He sounded almost reluctant to hear the answer.
“They seem to be surviving, as they always have,” Julianne said. “Did you hear about the trouble in Arcadia?”
“Somewhat. Adrien finally showed his true colors?”
“If by ‘true colors’ you mean ‘shade of asshole’, then yeah,” Marcus answered. “Ran the place with an iron fist that came down on the poor all too often.”
Mathias nodded. “And some girl ousted him. Did my people help?”
Julianne and Marcus exchanged glances. Initially, the druids had refused to help. “Laurel came,” Julianne said.
Mathias raised an eyebrow. “She was just a child when I left. An obstinate, pig-headed, troublemaker, but a child nonetheless.” A soft smile touched his lips. “Yes, if any were to break away and help lead a revolution, it would be Laurel.”
A lapse in conversation brought a question to Marcus’s mind. “Mathias, if you can heal, why is George still limping?”
“That bastard Rogan didn’t choose his words carefully enough. When he told his goons to ‘throw him in a cell’, they literally threw Lord George into a wall. He broke his ankle when he fell, and it had already started to set wrong when I got to it.”
“Damn,” Marcus muttered, thinking of the gentle old man left in a dungeon with a broken foot.
“That man will have a reckoning the likes of which has never been seen,” Mathias said quietly.
Marcus threw him an alarmed look. “We’re here for Adeline, Mathias. Not war. Not yet.”
Mathias’s face broke into a sunny smile. “I’m a druid, friend. I have the patience of an ancient forest.”
Marcus gave him an uneasy grin back, unsettled by the man’s sudden mood changes. When Mathias dropped back to speak with Jakob, he sighed with relief.
“Are you sure you trust these guys?” Marcus asked.
“Their goals are aligned with ours,” Julianne said cryptically. When Marcus gave a skeptical grumble in response, she added, “Yes. I trust Madam Seher, and I trust her people. I also—”
Julianne jerked her reins up and flicked one hand into the air, signaling them to halt. The sound of thundering hooves clattered down the road, the noise echoing in the night air.
Four soldiers wearing the colors of George the Third’s personal army came galloping towards them. Julianne yanked out her staff.
These men had murder in their eyes, but their minds were broken with fear and grief. A seed of pity warred against the instinct for self-preservation.
“Try not to kill them,” Julianne called to the others.
One of the horses peeled off and ran back the way it came. Its rider screamed and kicked it, jerking the reins, only to be thrown off before the horse fled into the night.
Mathias grinned, his eyes flashing green. “One down. Don’t hurt the animals, please.”
Marcus lifted his magitech rifle and let off a round just as the two parties met. He closed his eyes to protect them from the flash of light as he fired into a soldier, knocking him off his horse.
The two remaining fighters slammed into Marcus, perhaps because he looked the most dangerous—but looks could be deceiving.
As Marcus lifted his temporarily useless weapon to block a sword swing, he saw Jakob’s hands move. One of the soldiers was jerked from his horse onto the ground.
The other ducked a jab from Marcus only to crumple to the ground as Julianne’s staff smashed him in the side of the head.
“Thanks,” Marcus panted, but mustered up a grin for her.
Jakob lifted a hand and a glowing flame jumped up from his palm, lighting the ground. Marcus looked around. The soldier he had blasted was lying still on the ground. The one whose horse had bolted was gone.
“Dammit.” Jakob spat at the ground. “One got away.” He regarded the other two, one unconscious, the other struggling against invisible bands around his body.
Marcus slid off his horse and thumped the wriggling soldier in the head. His eyes rolled back, and he stopped moving.
“Marcus!” Julianne chided. “I wasn’t finished!” Her eyes cleared enough to glare at him.
Marcus winced. “Sorry. Did you get anything from him?”
“Enough,” she said, sighing. “The remains of the army is still together, barely. They’re following George—the younger one—but he’s out of his mind. They all need a good feed and a warm bed, but they refuse to leave him, and he won’t go back to Muir.”
“Do they pose a danger to Tahn?” Jakob asked. “If so, we should go back to warn them.”
Julianne shook her head. “There are less than two dozen men left. Bette will handle them if they get too close.”
Marcus winced again—this time, thinking of the pain those men would feel if they tried to attack Tahn while Bette was manning the defenses.
CHAPTER TEN
Adeline took a sip of wine, looking over the glass at Rogan through her long eyelashes. She had darkened them with a little powder tonight, and used cream to gloss her lips to a pretty shine.
It seemed to have worked. When she had descended the stairs from her room, Rogan’s eyes had almost fallen out of his head. The form-fitting gown was tighter than when the dress was made, and her breasts threatened to spill over the top.
Adeline had thrown the veil away, but her pockets hid more than one weapon. Now, watching him, she struggled to keep her eyes on him and not drop to the knife.
“And the insolent witch cast illusions, mirroring herself into a hundred images. My soldiers didn’t know where to look, who to attack. One even hit his own friend in the nose, can you believe it?”
Rogan giggled gleefully, as proud of Julianne’s magic as if he himself had pulled off the trick that had confused them so badly.
“And then what happened?” Adeline asked, hand to her throat as she mimicked concern.
“I saw through it, of course.” Rogan’s grin dropped to a sly smirk. “I took a knife and drove
it straight through her heart. Rebels and insurgents will never find a way to the throne while I’m in charge.”
He watched her closely for a reaction. Adeline clapped. “Oh, how clever.” She took another sip of wine to cover her seething irritation.
My father doesn’t sit on a throne, you pompous asshole, she thought. And when Julianne comes back, she’ll hold you down while we take turns kicking your ass.
Setting her glass down carefully, she met his eyes. “But, Rogan… what if Julianne had hurt you?” She forced her eyes wide open in a show of fear. “What if… what if she’d killed you?”
Rogan tentatively reached out and placed a hand on hers. “The loss would pain you, I know. But rest assured, my grand plans would still play on, and my death would be swiftly avenged.” Rogan’s dark eyes sparkled with delight, making Adeline shiver.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “But how, Rogan? How will you—we—ensure that happens?”
He fell silent, chewing a mouthful of beef as he thought. Adeline turned her hand over underneath his, so she was holding his hand. Rogan sucked in a breath.
I can’t believe he’s so arrogant, he’s falling for this, she thought as she gave him a sweet smile. As if any woman could care for a whimpering lentil like Rogan.
Adeline withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. After all, you have no reason to trust me.” She slipped her hand under the table to hide it as she wiped it on her skirt. Ugh. He's sweaty, too.
Rogan opened his mouth to speak. She pretended not to see it and cut him off. “This food is delicious. Margaret, could you fetch the chef so I can give him my thanks?”
Margaret, the serving girl, dipped a curtsey. “Of course, Ma’am.”
“Wait!” Rogan hastily wiped his mouth. “No need to bother him. Let us take a walk in the gardens, my dear, so I can answer your questions. You do have my absolute trust, of course, you do.”
Adeline nodded to Margaret. The girl skittered over to take the napkin from Adeline’s lap, then began to clear the table, shooting worried glances at her mistress. Adeline ached to give her a sign, some small reassurance that it was all an act and she hadn’t fallen under Rogan’s spell.
