“It’s found in rare salt veins,” Russ continued. “While I’ve never heard of it being found in veins of embolite, it’s certainly possible. I’d think the problem would be extraction.” He paused at Church’s scowl. “Embolite is a mineral containing both salt and silver in their natural forms.”
“Someone did his research.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have guessed embolite over chlorargyrite. Dillon gave Russ a slow second glance. There was something familiar about him.
Russ frowned. “I’d hardly accept the position otherwise.”
“So what gives?” Church twisted in his seat. “How did Harper get such a sweet deal?”
“I’ll hazard a guess the queen’s advisors signed over this tract of land for two reasons.” Russ waited until Dillon nodded. “First, it shares a city with the vernal castle, which means it’s near enough for First Court to monitor and close enough for the queen’s troops to attack if necessary.”
“Go on.” Dillon caught himself leaning forward.
“Second, the mine had potential, enough First Court’s gift appealed to Harper and their offer wasn’t insulting. Though I bet they assumed even if he was foolhardy enough to work the mine, he wouldn’t figure out how to process the embolite and separate the silver and the salt from the core mineral. Yet he did, and he likely doubled his profits.” Russ smiled slowly. “Am I right?”
“Damn.” Church whistled. “That explains the raiders, plus the bounty on Harper’s head.”
“Right on both counts,” Dillon said, forcing his attention from Russ.
He was right, though Dillon and Harper were just drawing the same conclusions. They had guessed the only reason the queen’s advisors had given consent for Harper to take over the mine was they were certain there was nothing here worth mining. Now that Harper had proven them wrong? Yeah, they were pissed and wanted a share. Damn if Dillon didn’t find that a little bit funny.
“This colony pays its bills with the mine, and, as Russ said, we mine embolite.” No two ways about it, Harper must have told Russ. “It’s damn hard work and not worth much in the rough, if anything at all. Then Uriah works his magic and we get pure silver and pure salt. Six times more silver than salt, but silver has its uses and our salt, well, it’s almost pure progesaline.”
Russ murmured something Dillon didn’t catch because Church stood with a grunt.
“So do we pick now or what?” His back popped as he stretched. “Mason or Uriah, right?”
Good to know Dillon wasn’t the only one bored by meetings. “Yeah, have at it.”
Church didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll take Uriah.”
Dillon almost felt sorry for him. While they were the obvious match, Uriah burned through apprentices faster than he could match faces to names. Not that he tried too hard. Mostly he called them all the same thing, dier hest eirdth or eirdth for short, which was the Demonish equivalent of dirt. Those under his tutelage chose to believe he meant they were clay and he was molding them into…whatever struck their fancy. Dillon suspected Uriah meant the more literal translation of ground beneath my feet. His attitude explained why even his ex-masters had given him a wide berth. The male was a god at his forge, and he knew it. The fact a story was floating around about him flinging molten silver in the face of an Askaran noble had cemented his reputation as a bastard. Something Dillon could respect. So long as Uriah did his job, Dillon didn’t care.
“That leaves me with Mason.” Russ slanted a look toward Church that punctured his mood. “If I’m playing courier, then I guess I’ll find out if there’s any life beyond those dunes after all.”
“Now that we have that settled,” Dillon said, giving Church time to school his glower, “you’ll each pull border patrol and sentry duty. That won’t change even after Harper gets back.”
Russ frowned. “We won’t alternate day and night shifts?”
Church stilled. “Harper needs someone watching his back at night too.”
“He has someone.” Dillon stood, Church’s restlessness feeding his own. “Her name’s Emma.” Before they earned enough rope to hang themselves, he silenced their protests. “One of you will remain on perimeter duty after dayshift ends. That means frequent passes by their tent. The trick is being close enough you can keep an eye on Harper—and Emma—while giving them the illusion of privacy.” He admitted grudgingly, “No one’s more invested in Harper’s wellbeing, and few are more capable of ensuring his safety. Plus few realize what she is before it’s too late.”
Once they moved past the honeymoon period in their relationship, Harper might not need a guard beyond his mate. Emma was a halfling, stronger than most full demon males, and Harper had trained her to protect her sister, Askara’s Princess Ascendant Madelyn DeGray, since they were children. If it meant protecting Harper and Maddie, there was nothing Emma wouldn’t do.
Dillon ignored the tightness in his chest and sharpened his scowl. He wasn’t jealous.
“Fair enough.” Russ pushed from his seat. “Where do you want us?”
“Head back to your tents for now. I’m handling border patrol tonight.” No reason not to while Harper wasn’t here to bench him. “I expect to see both of you here at six.”
Russ’s gaze dipped toward Dillon’s leg, his brow furrowing, but he kept his mouth shut. Good. He just might make it here after all.
“The faster you learn your way around, the better.” Dillon crossed the tent and brushed aside the flap. “I want you two broken in by the time Harper and Emma get back.”
His first step outside blinded him. Hot air rushed into his lungs, baking them, and his tongue dried in the time it took for his mouth to open long enough to say, “Welcome to Askara, boys.”
Chapter Two
Waning sun beat hot upon my shoulders. Squinting upward, I calculated the remaining hours until my departure. Flexing my spine, I loosened muscles coiled tight by nerves and stole a final glimpse of the consulate’s garden lit by sunset colors. Red clay stained my pants and shoes, casualties of my private war to coax life where there was none. Rubbing a succulent leaf between my fingers, I hoped one of the boarders took an interest and tended my plants after I was gone.
Although, once I left and took my magic with me, they might die regardless.
On that somber note, I unearthed my grimoire. Oiled leather rubbed softly beneath my fingertips. As I brushed aside dirt clods and revealed the well-insulated tome, awareness sparked.
“Sleep,” I soothed it.
After allowing brief skin-to-page contact, the book’s flare of sentience snuffed out in a pulse of latent magic. Once I was sure it rested contentedly, I rewrapped it and tucked it under my arm.
I hadn’t added to its contents during my time at the consulate, or much at all during my life. Instead, I’d focused on my healing craft both before and after Roland. To his dismay, I loathed borrowing knowledge from the grimoire. More precisely, I hated paying its price for information.
I had no choice now. Brielle—
No. I crushed the thought, not daring to even think her name.
Exhaling through the guilt making it hard to breathe, I unclasped my locket and stared at the portrait inside, a dangerous concession to my shame. I’d braided a portion of the hair Roland had given me, and it coiled inside the opposite frame. I took one last look, one dangerous glimpse, then I closed it as a child’s laughter tickled my ears and echoes from the past crackled my heart.
“Isabeau?” Lindsay jangled my nerves as she entered the yard. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.” A mumbled incantation tripped over my lips and hid the grimoire from view. “You don’t have to come to me.” I smiled and sat back on my ankles. “I’m on my way.”
“You’re fine where you are.” She waved away my words and stepped in my direction. “I was wondering what to prepare tonight. Do you have a taste for anything?” Another step and she would see the hole and wonder at its cause. “We have fresh vegetables. I thought a nice stew?”
Magic built in my hands, too hot and too dangerous to be mine. I glanced at my side, where I’d tucked the invisible grimoire. Its anticipation made my spine tingle. Sensing Lindsay’s approach, it yawned into wakefulness, lending me its power, eager for me to make use of it, desperate to exact its price if I did.
“No,” I whispered to it. “She is no danger to me, or to you.”
She laughed. “Who are you talking to over there behind the bushes?”
“No one, I just—” I pleaded with her, but she kept coming. “Wait there.”
The book all but purred, urging my fingers to uncurl. I made a fist instead and quashed the power fizzling from my fingertips. Eyes closed, I took a deep breath and pitted my will against the grimoire’s. Our silent battle lasted only seconds. Thrumming with annoyance, the book conceded the point, leaving me sweaty and shaking. The sooner we left the consulate the better.
“Oh. You could have said you were gardening.” Her brow creased as she inspected my work. “Are you sure you should be planting?” She eyed the hole then me. “You’re not sore?”
“I am somewhat tender.” I wiped sweaty palms. “Would you brew some chamomile tea?”
She brightened. “I will do my best.” In her eagerness to please, she left without a fuss.
Pain from unspent spell craft crippled me. I hunched forward, bracing my palms on the dirt, creating a circuit to diffuse the magical static clinging to my hands. Nearby flowers plumped, blossoms unfurled and vines withered. Petals fell. Scorched earth filled my nose, and I sneezed.
Dangerous to have awakened my grimoire before having the strength to control it, but my other choice was leaving it entombed until circumstance allowed for its retrieval or its discovery by someone else. I shivered. The book was all I had left from my mother, so it stayed with me.
No matter how I wished it otherwise.
A slight breeze ruffled my hair as movement teased the edge of my vision. Extending my senses, I detected no threat. Yet I couldn’t trust myself after Roland’s admission. He may be out there. Watching. Chills danced across my skin. With deliberation, I filled the hole so no turned ankles came from my carelessness. Then I gathered my supplies and clutched the eager book to my chest. Once I reached the door, I spun to face the garden. “I leave for the colony at nightfall.”
No one answered. For a moment, I blamed my unease on an overactive imagination.
“You have one week,” Roland’s voice sighed on the wind. “I’ll see you in Sere.”
I nodded and entered the consulate for the last time.
“The tea is steeping.” Lindsay met me at the door. “Care to join me in the kitchen?”
“I’m not sure I should.” I touched my cheek for effect. “I think I’ve overexerted myself.”
“Oh.”
Her disappointment softened my resolve. This may well be our last evening together. I would miss her, worry for her, after I’d gone. She was such a gentle soul, trapped in stalwart wrapping. Trailing her into the kitchen, I sat at the table and balanced the grimoire across my lap, where it settled atop my thighs with eerie contentment. “Is there anything you need before I go?”
I’d learned long ago to plant my lies with seeds of truth. I made no secret of my travel arrangements or who I intended to visit. My excuse for venturing into the colony was a long-overdue checkup on my patient, now my target, aided by the timely arrival of the colony courier.
Mason was a regular fixture at the consulate as he carried messages between Emma and Harper. Now he carried a message of intent from me to Dillon. I hoped its arrival was well met.
Several days should pass before Lindsay raised concerns about my absence, assuming my theft didn’t stir the colonists to raid the consulate first. As if I was foolish enough to return here.
I would never endanger our boarders.
“I don’t think so.” Lindsay served me tea without incident. My smile of encouragement made her beam. “You’ll only be gone for a couple of days. I can manage the house until you return.” She glowed with confidence I ached to witness. “I can do this. All will be as it should.”
I patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Her tasks were simple. Feed the boarders and turn aside all but the most urgent business. Going to market was a simple matter if she had cause to venture into the city, and she had authorization for purchasing supplies on the consulate’s tab. Nothing pressing was left for her to manage. She only had to await Emma. I’d done all I could. I had to believe it would be enough.
Lindsay appraised me. “Can I ask you something?”
Dragged from my concerns, I murmured, “Of course.”
She poured herself some tea and toyed with the cup in her hands, careful not to crush the porcelain. “Does this trip have anything to do with what happened at the market this morning?”
Her perception surprised me. For all that I hated when others underestimated her, here I was guilty of it myself. Seeking refuge behind my cup, I sipped and considered my response. “In a way, it does.” More than she would ever learn, I hoped. “I’d like a couple of days away from the city to settle my nerves. City living is fine, but tiresome. I’d like fresh air I don’t have to share.”
She gave a sympathetic nod, and I relaxed.
“You can’t get much farther from the city than where you’re going.” She inclined her head. “But are you sure that’s not an excuse? Or is there another reason you’d like to visit the colony?”
My cup slipped through damp fingers. “Why would you ask that?”
“You haven’t so much as spoken Dillon’s name since he left, not until today.” Her smile faded as she leaned closer, and her tone turned confiding. “You had a good scare earlier and…”
I laughed. “You think I’m running to him for comfort?”
“He isn’t an agreeable male.” She said so often, yet my opinion of him remained unchanged. “His manners are lacking and his company is unpleasant, but he seems to like you well enough.”
“He tolerates me,” I said softly, “and only because of his leg.”
Emma had once asked me to do her a favor by distracting Dillon with my company for an afternoon, and I had leapt at the chance. Much to my dismay, he saw through my charade and, if not for his leg, would have likely never spoken to me again. As it was, we honored a tentative truce borne of necessity, and while he was here, under my care, impropriety had mattered to me.
She frowned at my silence. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You’re fine,” I assured her. “The circumstances of our meetings are always…difficult. I don’t think we’ve seen him at his best.” Or perhaps I managed to always bring out his worst. I winced. As with Emma, his opinion couldn’t matter to me. He had no place in my life or I in his.
Lindsay nodded, no doubt placating me. “Perhaps you’re right.”
The topic of Dillon tired me, and I didn’t have to pretend my yawn.
“You should rest,” she advised. “The journey to the colony is tiresome.”
“Thank you for my tea, and your company, but I think you’re right.” I stood. “I should rest.”
Careful of my awkward hold on the grimoire, I climbed the stairs to my room. Clutching the doorknob, I stopped mid-twist and glanced over my shoulder. Across from me, an empty room’s door stood open. My slow steps retraced the familiar path, and I hovered over the threshold as I had so many times before, when Dillon lay in bed and suffered at my hands in order to be healed.
Drawn inside, I sat on a stool pulled next to the bed and stared at the pillow, seeing a tousled head of chestnut hair, remembering how I’d monitored the slow rising of his chest while he slept.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” His voice was a thready whisper strung with pain.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you…” Heat burned my cheeks at having been caught here, again.
“I can’t sleep.” Dillon turned his head. Even that small movement made him grunt. “I try, but…it hurts too
damn bad.” His chuckle strained. “Don’t give me that look. I hate popping pills, and the pain keeps me honest. If you’re hanging around, the least you could do is entertain me.”
“How about we compromise? You drink one cup of medicinal tea and I’ll read you one story from the book of your choosing.” I waited for his agreement, but stubborn male that he was, he shook his head. “Dillon, please.”
“I can’t.” He exhaled, sounding tired and hurt. “Go on. I won’t ask you to stay.”
“Do you really think not seeing you suffer lessens the pain it causes me to know I did this to you?” I shoved unruly hairs from his forehead. “I never would have operated if I’d known you’d refuse pain medication. I don’t know how you bore it during…and after… Please, let me help.”
“Okay.” He glanced at me. “Read me that story. Get my mind off things. That would help.”
Biting my tongue because we’d had this argument daily for the past week, I went to the shelf and let him choose a title from among the books I’d brought from my room. Our shared interests delighted me. I hoped, one day, once he’d recovered, he might visit and we could discuss them.
Reclaiming my seat on the stool, I settled the book across my lap and began reading.
He interrupted to comment, “It has pictures, doesn’t it? Gobillard loves his illustrations.”
“I—yes, it does—he does.” The book was heavy, awkward to lift, but I managed.
“I can’t make out a thing at this angle.” He groaned, shifting closer to me. “That’s better.”
I froze, the weight of the book making my hands tremble. When I glanced down, my cheek pressed against his forehead. Rather than the book, he faced me. His head rested on my shoulder and his nose pressed against my neck. His breath heated my throat, which constricted at that faint touch.
“What are you doing?” Why had I whispered?
“Shh.” His lips brushed my skin. “Just read.”
And I had, until he fell into his first uneven sleep in days.
Blinking the present into bleary focus, I rose on unsteady legs and returned to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I set the tome on a low table. Its displeasure at being parted from me was a stinging prickle across my nape. I would have to bind its magic, and soon. With that in mind, I crossed the room and slid a slim dagger I used for opening letters into one of my pockets.
Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 Page 2
