Gandrett felt a tug on the corners of her mouth and suppressed a smile. She had.
“Now it’s only about getting her to be…” He searched for words. “To be acceptable for Denderlain court.”
Lord Brenheran nodded as he looked Gandrett over like a prize pony. “I see.”
Beside him, Lady Brenheran sought Gandrett’s gaze as if she was trying to tell her something. An apology maybe… But the lady averted her eyes too fast to be reading too much into it.
“There is a lot of work to be done, Brax.” He glanced at the young man, who gave a nod as well, his eyes lighting up despite his otherwise cool expression.
Gandrett tried to make sense of their words, her heart picking up speed. “Denderlain court?” She finally peered over her shoulder to find Nehelon frowning. “I thought I was to free Joshua Brenheran. A mercenary mission.”
The lord laughed before Nehelon could explain. “If it were a mission doable by mercenaries, believe me, our own guards and mercenaries would have managed.” He shot a look of dismay at Nehelon. “He would have managed,” he added, his chin jerking at the male.
It was clear in the lord’s voice and the way Nehelon almost invisibly cringed that this was personal for him. Her success was personal for him.
She took a steadying breath and straightened, placing the sticky napkin on the table before her. “What am I to do to bring Joshua home?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Seduce Denderlain?” Gandrett coughed at Lord Tyrem Brenheran. His wife flinched beside him but said nothing. “You are aware, Lord,” she raged, her calm facade crumbling in the wake of the lord’s words, “that I am a Child of Vala. Trained in swordsmanship. Trained for combat.” She paused, inhaling deeply through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth once. Twice. You, yourself, saw to it that I was sent to the priory as Sives’s stupid sacrifice, she wanted to say. But she held those words in, throwing little daggers through her gaze instead.
The lord acted as if sending a girl of barely eighteen to seduce the enemy for information was something he did every day.
“A disguise,” Nehelon said behind her, his deep voice clarified. “Not a job.”
Brax Brenheran grinned widely as if he was enjoying the spectacle. Nehelon shot him a pointed glare.
“For some reason, House Denderlain knows every face of my guards, male or female. There is no one I can send who they won’t identify right away; and send back with a missing limb in the best case, execute on the spot in a worse case.” He looked her straight in the eye, face fierce with a hint of fatherly concern. “Worst case, they torture my guards, my mercenaries.” His gaze shot to Nehelon and back. “I don’t want to know what they are doing to my son.” Lady Brenheran reached for his hand at that, her face tight. “Hamyn Denderlain is not a man to hold back his blade.” There was a deep sadness in his eyes, and rage—the rage of a father who was helpless, who could do nothing but watch as his son was taken from him, hurt, potentially tortured—
Gandrett’s head sunk at that last memory of her own family. The pleas to choose someone else, to leave their daughter with them. This man before her, sitting in his castle with his wife and son, feeding on imported fruit, fighting on the expense of his people—the people of the west of Sives. She focused on the silverware before her, swallowing any emotion. She had to keep a clear head.
“We need to infiltrate the Denderlain court and find out Joshua’s whereabouts. Last time my men tried to get him, Hamyn moved him just a day before they arrived and had a party of soldiers waiting for them instead.”
Nehelon shifted behind her, but Gandrett didn’t turn, didn’t want to see what was there on his face, if it spoke of pain, of torture, of a history that had driven him to agree to make her nothing more than a courtesan…
“And where exactly do you expect I find Joshua?” she asked pointedly. “In Hamyn’s bed?”
“I like her, Father,” said Brax to the lord and chuckled darkly. Then, he turned to her, shaking his head. “It’s a disguise, Miss Brayton,” he repeated what Nehelon had said before. “Nobody expects you to actually get that far.” His gaze swept over her once more. “And it’s not Hamyn we expect you to seduce but his son and right hand, Armand. You need to win his trust so you can sneak around and find Joshua. And with Armand’s trust, his affections—” He didn’t need to continue.
Gandrett swallowed and looked down at her brown gown, shabby compared to anything she had seen in this palace so far, and became very self-conscious. She knew enough about boys to understand Brax’s assessing glance. He was studying her curves, and the dress, even if plain and unrevealing compared to what some of the courtiers had worn, what Lady Brenheran was wearing, showed off the generous curve of her breasts, her slender waist. Heat rose in her cheeks as she noticed they were all looking now. Even Nehelon, who had stepped forward and stood by her side, face unreadable.
With another deep breath, Gandrett shook the feeling of being an exotic animal to be sold at an auction. “I am a Child of Vala,” she repeated, implying precisely what it meant and reminding the four people in the room of exactly that. “I was forced at the age of seven to swear an oath to be faithful to the goddess and the goddess only. I am sworn to the Order of Vala, and that will be my sole company for the rest of my days.” Nobody had to point out just how bitter she sounded, how little she had wanted that oath. How little she wanted that life.
Even Brax Brenheran lost his grin at her words.
But Tyrem Brenheran, no matter how understanding his eyes were, simply said to Nehelon, “I didn’t pay a fortune for a girl who shies away at the sight of men.”
Nehelon squared his shoulders ever so slightly, as if reminding himself of something, but didn’t speak.
He saw their looks, Lord Tyrem’s and Brax’s. And he could tell they agreed with what he, himself, could no longer deny. Below the plainness of her dress, the girl’s body was as if made to draw men’s stares. She was perfect for the job—especially her skills in sword fighting, her uncanny way of knowing just how to put her opponents on their back. Once she’d made her first kill, she would be unstoppable.
How exciting it was to come across someone skilled and strong enough to maybe even take on him.
But seducing Armand Denderlain to win his trust, even if it was just a decoy…
He remembered that first time Lord Tyrem had hatched the plan. Find Joshua by infiltrating the palace. Armand Denderlain, Hamyn’s right hand and commander of the guard, was suspicious of every new addition to his fighters, every new courtier, so there was only one way to get her close enough to him without having to introduce her as a servant.
Maybe they would plant her at one of Denderlain’s parties, Armand was known for always looking for a new face. He was sure Armand would not miss her undeniable beauty.
“I don’t shy away from anyone,” Gandrett clarified, her cheeks stained in a shade of red that reminded him of the wild raspberries in the forests of Ulfray.
Brax’s eyes sparked as he noted the fire in Gandrett’s gaze. Not a Child of Vala—a warrior of Vala.
“You may have bought me from the Meister like a common slave,” she said, her voice deadly calm, “but I am nobody’s whore.” She paused, letting her words sink in, and to Nehelon’s satisfaction, Lady Crystal gave a short nod of agreement. “I will do what I can to save your son. I will risk my life because that is what I was trained for. I will even slip into make-up and flimsy dresses to get it done.”
Nehelon waited for what was coming, they all did. For the smug look on her face promised there was a condition.
She could taste the tension in the air. The anticipation. All of them were still looking at her—at her face now. Into her eyes. Lady Brenheran had even nodded her agreement. Now it was time to play the cards right. The Meister—painful as his lessons might have been—had taught her one or the other thing about how to navigate herself in situations that demanded wandering off the path of Vala. She could negotiate—would negotiate.<
br />
“A year,” she said coolly.
And Lord Tyrem’s eyebrows rose, as did Brax Brenheran’s and Lady Crystal’s. Nehelon’s face, however, remained unreadable.
“What ever do you mean, Miss Brayton?” Lord Tyrem asked when Gandrett left them guessing for a moment longer than his patience held.
Gandrett kept her face blank. “When I bring home your son Joshua,” she said, sounding as reassured as if she were telling Nahir that she wanted more oat cookies, “I want one year with my family.”
Beside her, Nehelon’s arm twitched the slightest bit. He knew that she was taking what he had already negotiated with the lord and stretching it, testing how far she could go, to gain as much from the bargain as she could. Something more valuable than any gold they could pay the Meister—time with her family. Seeing her mother’s smile, hearing her brother’s laugh, looking out the window and finding her father on the field with the fat ponies that pulled his plow—
If Lord Tyrem was offended by her question, he didn’t show any sign. All he did was turn to Nehelon and say, “So far, she exceeds my expectations in every regard but manners.” Then to Gandrett. “If…” He gave her a stern look. “If you manage to pass as a lady in Denderlain court,” his eyes bore into hers, fierce. A warrior, a father, betting on the only horse available to save his son and pushing it, daring it, threatening it to win. “If you bring home my son in one piece,” he leaned back, “I will grant you a year.”
Somehow, he didn’t look like he believed she would manage.
“Show the Child of Vala to her chambers.” He nodded at Nehelon, who promptly reached for her arm and pulled her up.
“Come, Miss Brayton,” he said with a professional tone, “I am certain you can use a bath after the strain of our journey.”
Gandrett ignored as he sniffed at her before he walked her from the room.
Chapter Fifteen
The double doors of her chambers were guarded, one heavily armed man on each side. Gandrett had flashed them each a smile as Nehelon walked her in—not at the tip of his sword the way she had done with him at the priory but with mere words of caution.
“Don’t even think about running,” he had said with a feral grin.
Gandrett interpreted his words as, If you want to live long enough to see your family again.
He had left her to take a bath and get some rest with the reminder that the guards outside wouldn’t be the only ones monitoring her chambers. And while both of them knew it would take more than two or three guards to stop her once she made up her mind, they also knew that he, with his Fae senses, would be the first to come after her the second she went missing.
Quiet footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to find a woman in a simple dress—still more fashionable and of a better fabric than her dirty, brown one—enter the bedchamber where Gandrett was standing and studying the burgundy and gold tapestry. The woman stopped and curtseyed then hurried to the dresser, head down, and opened it to pull out a variety of fabrics.
Gandrett watched, her mouth open. She had heard about servants, about noble ladies having someone tending to them. But never had she believed anyone would see to her needs.
The woman turned toward her, curtseying again. “We didn’t know what size you’d be,” she said with a low voice, half-blushing as she studied Gandrett’s body, “so we brought some underthings and something to sleep in…just until we get some clothes made for you tomorrow.”
Gandrett’s eyes followed the servant’s hands as she reached into her apron, and her instincts went on red alert… For a second, until the woman extracted a tape measure and stepped closer.
“If I may,” she lifted the item in her hand and waited.
And waited.
For a moment, Gandrett just stared. Then she realized what the woman meant and fumbled with her dress.
“My apologies, Miss Brayton.” The servant took another step. “I can help you with the dress if that makes it easier.”
Gandrett stopped. “What’s your name?” she asked the woman and tried to smile, something Nahir had said once coming to her mind. Treat your servants like the people they are—people, who through their hard work, make your own life easier. Respect them.
The woman looked up with hazel eyes. “Eugina.”
“Thank you, Eugina.” Gandrett pulled off her dress in one sweep, folded it over a chair, and held out her arms to the side for Eugina to take measure. “I haven’t worn a proper dress in—” Over a decade. “A long time.” She wasn’t sure how much the woman knew about where she had come from, what her purpose at the palace was, how dangerous she could be. So she smiled again.
Eugina, obviously relieved that Gandrett wasn’t a fire-breathing monster like some ladies—according to Nahir—were, wrapped the tape measure around Gandrett’s chest, waist, hips, then measured the length of her arms, shoulder to floor, and every other detail that Gandrett never knew was necessary in order to fabricate a dress.
Then, with another curtsey and the promise that she’d have something to wear by tomorrow, the woman left.
Gandrett loosed a breath. Her own chambers. Not just one room shared with another acolyte but one bedroom, a private bathing chamber, an antechamber. Her eyes darted from surface to surface, marveling at ornate carvings, burgundy and gold patterns, and the thick rug covering most of the dark stone floor. She marveled until her chest hurt from the ambivalence of it. Beautiful, yes, but it all belonged to the man who had taken her childhood away.
And if she was honest—the only thing keeping her here was knowing that if she tried to run, Nehelon would end her with a flick of his hand. She couldn’t care less about Joshua Brenheran. No one had cared when she had been taken from her parents. People in the streets had cheered when the dark-clothed, hooded men had picked her from her home. She couldn’t remember faces, just the fear when it had settled in that she would never return.
If she ran now, she would make it to Alencourt in two or three days on foot.
A glance out the open balcony doors told her it would be easy. With her acolyte-uniform on and some strips of fabric from the dress to wrap her hands with, she’d climb down the rough stone to the garden below and disappear in the blossoming bushes, following them until they lost themselves near the palace walls.
A low laugh from above caught her attention. Reaching to her side for the sword she had dropped on the chair alongside her dress, Gandrett swirled around, her hands gripping thin air, and earned a clap from Brax Brenheran who was leaning on the balcony rail one level above.
“Denderlain court will be in turmoil if this is to become your usual attire,” he said, a mischievous grin lingering on his sensuous lips. He leaned forward, hair dancing around his face like onyx silk. “Not that it doesn’t suit you.” A wink.
Gandrett suppressed the urge to throw the flowerpot in front of her at him and hastily retreated into the room.
“I mean it,” he called after her, his chuckle outlasting her quick exit, and Gandrett silently thanked Vala he didn’t see her turn crimson.
With quick fingers, she sealed the doors and padded to the bathing chamber where the mirror told her that her face was about as pink as the flowers she had debated throwing at the Brenheran-boy.
The next morning, Nehelon found her fast asleep, only her head, one shoulder, and one arm peeking out from under layers of blankets she had wrapped herself in. The chestnut of her hair spilled over the pillows, a stark contrast to the cream silk her cheek was resting on.
For a long second, he held his breath and studied her face, so much softer without the boiling fury she kept locked in all the time. Her lips were parted, life-giving breath flowing in and out in a slow rhythm—almost too slow for a girl her age. But then, she was fit and her stamina built; he noticed her pulse was as low as his own when he rested.
Quietly, Nehelon took a step toward her bed, reassuring himself that all he’d do was take a better look, assess his newest weapon from up close, study the
muscles in her bare shoulder and arm before she woke and sneered at him again.
She had been so brave the night before, tackling and defeating Mike in one agile strike. And she had shown nothing of what it cost her, the effort of keeping her emotions in.
She had done a great job. No one had seen it but him, his Fae senses letting him smell just how much she hated Tyrem Brenheran. How she despised all of them for what they were asking of her—not asking. Demanding.
The scent of cherry blossoms and orange oil filled his nose as he stopped beside her bed. It was a scent that was familiar from the ladies at court, and yet—there was something different about the combination when it mixed with the scent of her skin and her hair. Something intoxicating.
As if steered by an invisible hand, Nehelon bent down, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply.
“What are you doing?” Gandrett’s voice, too close by his ear, made him jump.
What was he doing? Nehelon’s eyes widened as he found Gandrett’s face mere inches from his, those moss-green eyes revealing flecks of gold in the morning sun. Her gaze was everything but the calm, breakable girl he had spied dreaming. Fury, cold and hot at once met him as he braced himself to pull away from that scent—
“Get out of bed,” he barked the first thing that came to his mind. “You won’t find out Denderlain’s secrets by sleeping late.” With a spin on his heels, he propelled himself upright and faced the balcony, his eyes on blossoms opening to the warm light outside. A view that would catch his attention on other days if it weren’t for the soft thud of blankets, the sigh of silk against skin, the quick pace of Gandrett’s heart as she padded across the room with so little noise he found himself turning to check where she was going.
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