Chapter Eleven Jasalyn

Chapter Eleven

Jasalyn

O UR BUNK ROOM IS TRULY that—a room with a sturdy, utilitarian metal bunk and enough space to walk along one side of it. There is a small window on the far wall. Whether that's luck or Remme watching out for me I can't be sure, but I'm grateful.

A candle flickers in the wall sconce, and shadows dance on the ceiling.

My mattress is hard as a rock. Not that it matters. I have other things to do tonight than enjoy a restful sleep.

"You're acting weird," Skylar says.

I'm lying on my back in the top bunk, waiting for her to get in bed before I slip on my ring and head downstairs to see what else I can learn about the rebel forces gathered in the dining room. I don't want to wait too long, since I'm not sure how late they'll stay, but I would prefer to keep it simple and wait until Skylar falls asleep. Not because she'd remember but because her fawning over the Enchanting Lady would be awkward in the morning. For me at least. "I'm just tired."

She grunts and the bunks sway as she throws herself onto her mattress. "Nah. That isn't tired. That's pissed."

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm trying to sleep and my roommate keeps talking."

"You sure it has nothing to do with those piece of shit faeries downstairs who want to destroy your pretty sister?"

I sigh. "Don't try to bait me, Skylar. I'm not in the mood."

"Fine." The bunks shift again, as if she's rolling to her side.

Her breathing turns softer, and I'm about to reach for my ring when she says, "He cares about you, but he can't have you."

I freeze. "What?"

"The world is full of shit people, but Hale Kendrick is one of the good ones. Don't make it hard for him when this is all over and he has to walk away from you."

"I... We aren't... He doesn't..." I don't know what to do about the nervous mass of butterflies staging a riot in my belly. "Did he say something to you?"

She snorts. Loudly. The guys can probably hear her in their room. "He doesn't need to."

I close my eyes. It's so tempting to lose myself in thoughts of crushes and could-be love. To lose myself in thoughts of a future with a guy who was once the only piece of light in a world full of dark. But I'm not here for that. "I'm sure you're mistaken," I whisper.

"Even you aren't that na?ve," she says. "You should consider yourself lucky. Most of us don't get the attention of someone that good for even a moment. But I'm asking you to keep your distance. For his sake."

"What about you? I haven't missed the way you look at him."

She's quiet for a long time. "He's not for me any more than he's for you. The difference between us is that I've made my peace with that."

I pull the ring from the pocket in my undergarments and roll it between my finger and thumb, losing myself in thoughts of Kendrick while I wait for her to fall asleep. She's wrong. Of course she's wrong. I have to believe it. Because it's not like Kendrick wanting me would change anything. I still can't have him. And even if I could, when this is all over, he'll have to go home. To Elora. And I'll be gone.

Only when I hear the buzz of Skylar's soft snore do I slip on my ring and climb down from the top bunk.

"Where are you going?" Skylar asks, immediately alert.

"Nowhere. I'm still in bed, sleeping. You're dreaming. Close your eyes."

She does as I command, and I grab my cloak off the back of the door and slip it over my sleeping gown before taking the key from the dresser and stepping out into the hall.

It's Natan who's standing outside our rooms, not Kendrick, and I shove down the tangle of emotion that tries to shove its way into my cold heart. I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved, and I don't want to look at anything I'm feeling too closely. Because it doesn't matter.

Natan's eyes are bright as he looks me over. "I think I might love you," he whispers, pressing his palm to his chest.

I press my finger to my lips. "Shh. I have to go. You never saw me."

He nods. "Okay. May I come with you?" he asks, voice softer now.

"No. I need you to stay here and look out for your friends."

His eyes lose some of their luster, but he nods. He'd do anything for me. "If that's what you want."

"It is. I'll be back soon."

His gaze is fixed on my mouth. Sweet, studious Natan, fixated on the Enchanting Lady. "You promise?"

"I promise." I wink at him over my shoulder as I make my way to the stairs.

When I return to the tavern, it's empty. The rowdy group from earlier is gone. Their table is littered with dirty dishes and empty glasses, and the lanterns have been turned down low.

My stomach sinks.

I could go upstairs and search each room until I find the proprietor, maybe ask him some questions about their plans and where they're going, but I hoped to find out more tonight.

A clatter of dishes behind me pulls my attention away from the filthy table, and I follow the sound to the kitchen, where I see the proprietor's wife scrubbing floors on her hands and knees.

"Hello," I say sweetly.

"The kitchen is closed," she says. Her knuckles are raw from her work. My sister's hands used to look like that, and now they're soft and healthy. Maybe there's a better future for this female as well.

"Please look at me."

She obeys, sitting back on her heels and lifting her chin. The moment her eyes meet mine, she drops her rag and jumps to her feet. "I'm so sorry, milady. What can I do for you?"

"Your husband and his friends were eating in the dining room earlier. Have they retired for the evening?"

"No, ma'am. They continue their revelry at High Captain Vauril's manor house. They will sleep there tonight and be on their way in the morning."

I tilt my head to the side in question. "High captain?"

She blushes. "He was named high captain of Mordeus's personal guard before the king was slain. His friends still use his title."

My gut clenches painfully at the sound of the false king's name. "I'm surprised the queen allowed him to keep his lands after everything."

"The queen doesn't know he lives, milady. She believes the compound is owned by his son and told the boy she doesn't believe in punishing children for the crimes of their parents. She's a merciful queen, perhaps too merciful for these lands, if you ask me."

She's twisting her hands at her waist, and I brush my fingers over them. "You're hurting yourself," I whisper.

"Nervous habit, milady," she says, but she stops and tucks her hands into her pockets. "Please tell me what I can do for you. I am a talented cook. May I prepare you some food? Or perhaps you'd like a foot rub? Or a warm bath in our nicest room? I could have its occupant cleared out and have it cleaned for you within the hour."

"None of that will be necessary. Tell me, do you have somewhere to go? If something happened to your husband?"

She blinks. "My best friend is a widow. Her husband died in the war and left her and her children a house. She's invited me to live with her. I wish I could, but as long as my husband needs me, I cannot leave." She drops her voice to such a low whisper I can barely hear it. "Sometimes I wish he would die in his stupid crusade against the queen so I could be free of him and his anger."

"I want that for you."

Her eyes fill with tears. "I don't deserve even such a kind thought from someone so lovely as you."

Sometimes I hate the ring and how fake these exchanges are. This female deserves true love and affection, not some magical substitute that she won't even remember tomorrow. I don't like manipulating those who deserve honesty, but if I must, I want them to benefit from it. "You deserve more and better," I tell her, putting all my will into the words. "And you'll need to remember that if you wish to find it."

"As you wish, milady."

"Now, tell me where I can find this High Captain Vauril's manor house."

The night is dark with very little moon, and the only light cast onto the small village road comes from the few houses that still have lanterns burning on their front stoop. Even with the ring on, the darkness bothers me tonight. Maybe it's the talk of Mordeus or maybe it's just the long day catching up with me, but fear creeps through my veins where the Enchanting Lady's ice should be, and by the time I arrive at the high captain's manor house, I'm grateful for the torches he has lining his gate.

The house has the look of a property that was lush in the recent past but has since been neglected. The gardens are overgrown and need tending. The gate is broken in several places, and the paint is chipping on the exterior.

Getting past the guards at the gate and the front door is as easy as expected. Even easier is finding the group from the tavern. They're gathered around a battered wooden table on the main floor, and the tavern's proprietor is standing on a chair.

"I remember a time when being Unseelie was a badge of honor," he shouts.

"Hear! Hear!" his comrades cheer, raising their glasses.

"We didn't ally with the Seelie Court," he continues, "we plotted their downfall!"

"Those were the days!" a horned female sings from the corner.

A fork-tongued orc grunts. "Some of us never stopped."

The proprietor grins down at his audience. "We should go to the palace tonight. Kill her in her sleep. Mordeus has risen. Why wait for a full army when the gods are on our side?"

"You're drunk!" the horned female says.

"That's a death wish," another shouts.

"You don't think I could do it? I could. I used to work for Mordeus. I know all the palace's secrets. I could get in there without anyone knowing and have her blood on my hands before she could cry for her trash human mother."

That gets a laugh, but I've heard enough and emerge from the shadows.

The first night I found my way among Mordeus's followers, I hated every second. I hated walking among them, breathing the same air as them. I hated listening to their carefree laughter mixing with joyous, boisterous music. How dare they be so happy when their souls were so stained? How dare they have so much when they've stolen from those who have nothing?

But I quickly learned to relish it. Learned to associate stepping into their strongholds with the satisfying final gasp of death. Tonight, I don't even have to fake my smile. I don't have to fake the thrill in my eyes as I direct the full power of my attention right at the drunken fool who would love nothing more than to plunge an iron blade into my sister's heart.

He sees me and straightens. "Well, hello."

"Hello." I smile as his eyes go glossy.

His entire table leans longingly toward me, and the female from the corner moves in my direction, but I keep all my attention focused on their drunken, ranting, wife-beating leader.

"Would you take me upstairs? Somewhere quiet, perhaps?"

He hops down from his chair, stumbling over his own feet before righting himself, then comes toward me. "It would be my absolute honor, milady." His pretty words are punctuated with a hiccup.

One of his friends jumps up from his chair and grabs his arm. "You should stay here. You have a wife. I'll take the lovely lady wherever she wants."

The proprietor yanks free. "She asked for me." He turns to meet my eyes again.

I pretend not to notice that he's shaking with nerves and glee. When he offers me his arm, I take it, letting him lead me to the stairs.

The second floor is darker than the first, and again my old fears clutch at my heart and drive me to check to make sure my ring is in place. I'll finish this quickly. I don't want to linger near this male with his evil plans and his stink of ale and hatred.

"Where would you like to go?" he asks at the top of the stairs. He reaches out and opens a bedroom door. "There's privacy here. Does this suit milady?"

"Indeed." I step inside, turning toward him when he's only just beyond the threshold. "Kiss me."

"Yes." He bends toward me and brushes his lips against my smile.

I don't bother catching his body as it falls to the floor or hiding the satisfaction I feel as I saunter out of the room. Perhaps I should feel remorse. Maybe once I would have. But I don't. My sister will be safe. The male's young wife will be safe. This realm is better without him.

I return to the hall and pull the hood of my cloak back on as I move toward the stairs.

Voices in a room beyond the stairs make me hesitate, and I step into the shadows to listen.

"Our king is weak," a deep voice says. "He needs time before he can address the crowds."

"No one will believe Mordeus lives without seeing his face."

My cold heart skips a beat. I don't want to believe it's true—or maybe I pray it is. I'm not sure how I feel, but the more people speak of it, the harder it is to deny.

"Then they aren't true followers. Did he not promise us a better future? Did he not promise us a world where we can use our power as we were born to?"

"Yes, but—"

"So they wait. He will see them when he's ready."

"Of course."

"In the meantime, sober up those fools. That is no army fit for a king."

"Agreed, my lord. Do we have any word from our people in the capital?"

"Not yet, but we will soon. The king belongs in the Midnight Palace, and I won't have that bitch in the way when my king is ready."

Protective rage washes over me. I could go out in that corridor and end them both now.

"Perhaps Winstom was right. Perhaps we should strike sooner rather than—"

"Patience. Our king will make it so in his time."

I've heard enough, but I've only taken a step toward the stairs when rough fingers drag me into a dark room, and I find myself wrapped against a warm, hard chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" an angry voice growls against my ear.

"Release me," I sing, letting the seductive power of the ring honey my tone.

"First you tell me what you're doing here."

Even if I could turn around, it's too dark in here to see his face, but I know Kendrick's husky voice better than I know most anything. I know it as the only part of those nights locked in the darkness worth remembering.

"Jasalyn, answer me."

I jerk around at the sound of my name, taking only a moment to confirm with a swipe of my thumb that my ring is in place.

The magic of the ring makes people obey me. Those around me are hypnotized by my presence.

He must not be able to see me. I tug, but his hold on me is too strong.

"Release me," I repeat.

"Gods, it really is you. You really are this foolish." Then the heat of him is gone, and he's swinging the door shut and leading me into an attached room, where candlelight flickers on the wall. For the first time, I can see his face, and more importantly, now he can see mine.

"Kendrick."

His gaze rakes over me and his nostrils flare. Does he see the mystical, seductive aura of the ring or does he see me? There's no sign of that magical awe in his eyes. But if he sees me, then how ?

"What are you doing here in your gods-damned nightgown ?"

I lift my chin. "I could ask you the same."

"I'm here because the faeries downstairs who fancy themselves rebels know more about the plans and locations of Mordeus's followers than we do, and we need that information if the sword isn't at Feegus Keep. But, unlike you, I was wise enough to wear gods-damned clothes."

"I didn't think I'd be leaving the tavern." I shrug. "My plans changed."

"Why aren't you in bed? How did you get past Skylar? And why the hell did Natan let you leave?"

"Maybe I'm stealthier than you realize."

"Do you know where you are?" He glances over his shoulder toward the door he closed behind us.

"Do I look stupid?" I ask.

His jaw hardens. "You ask me that when I find you lurking around a rebel hideout. The Unseelie princess in the home of the queen's greatest enemies. Given the context, I don't think you'd like my answer. I'll ask one more time. Why are you here?"

I shrug. "Revenge."

"Go home, Jasalyn."

"Home?" I cock my head to the side. "Where is that, exactly? The human realm of Elora where I was sent to recover from Mordeus's dungeons only to find myself ripped from bed in the middle of the night for a different evil fae's purposes? Or is home supposed to be that palace where my sister—my faerie sister—rules? The palace that serves as a daily reminder that I have the blood of those whom I hate most running through my veins? Or is home that tiny bunk bed in that moldy inn with your friends who would've left me chained in that cottage if they'd had a choice? Which home would you like me to go to?" I draw in a ragged breath. Why isn't my ring keeping me calm?

Kendrick doesn't look surprised by my outburst. He scans my face, and I wonder what he's searching for, wonder again why my ring isn't working.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "About all of that. But you aren't safe here. The second someone recognizes you, they will take you, and they will use you to manipulate the queen. They will use you to bring down your sister. Is that what you want?"

"They won't recognize me. I'm spelled." I hold up the hand with my ring, hoping it's still true even though the magic doesn't seem to be working on Kendrick.

"And if this spell fails?"

I try to bite my tongue but can't. "What do you see when you look at me?"

He shakes his head. "I see Jasalyn." He sweeps his gaze over me, assessing. "A more grown-up version of the girl who was kept in the cell across from mine in Mordeus's dungeons."

I bite my bottom lip. "But how?"

"Are you okay? I see you because you're standing in front of me."

Taking his hand, I lead him to the mirror that sits atop a dresser on the opposite side of the dimly lit room. "What do you see there?"

Sighing, he lifts his gaze to the mirror, then tenses. He turns to me before turning back to the mirror. "Who is that?"

The woman in the mirror has my long brown hair and my eyes. She's me but not.

Her hair is even darker. More sleek. Her cheekbones are sharper, and her lips are plump and a red that matches her dress. The woman in the mirror is sensuality and confidence personified. She has a knowing gleam in her eye that is the opposite of the scared little thing Kendrick found in Mordeus's dungeons. He gave me the nickname of Slayer because I wasn't, but she is.

"How did you do that?" He tears his gaze from the mirror to look at me. "Is this your magic? Some sort of mirror manipulation? Which one is the real you?"

"What you see in the mirror is what everyone else sees when they look at me." I hold up my hand. "So long as I'm wearing this ring."

"Why is it different for me?"

"I don't know."

"Aren't you worried this magic will fail on someone else if it failed on me?"

"I'm not afraid."

"You should be."

I narrow my eyes. "How is it any safer for you to be around these people than it is for me?"

"I'm not the shadow princess, for one. They think I'm supporting their cause."

"And why shouldn't I believe that too?"

Something sharp flashes across his face—hurt? anger?—before he schools his features. He studies my face for a long time. I forgot how comforting it was to have those eyes on me. To have his sharp mind always looking out for me. "Because you know me," he finally says.

"It's been three years. People change. I've changed."

"You've hardened"—his knuckles sweep across my collarbone—"but that's just a protective shield." He presses his palm to my chest. "Your heart remains the same. As does mine."

I draw in a deep breath, sure he can feel the organ in question racing under his hand. "My heart does not rule me, and neither should yours."

The cacophony of the group downstairs pitches up as someone shouts. Chairs squeal, glass shatters, and there's a chorus of laughter and the pounding of several large males running up the stairs.

Then suddenly the door is pushed open and a stumbling male enters the room.

In a flash, Kendrick spins me around and presses me against the wall, hiding my body with his.

He bends and lowers his mouth to mine. Panicked, I push him away, but he won't be moved.

I slide my hand between our mouths at the last minute to keep his lips from touching mine.

"Sorryboutthat," a drunken male slurs, then the thunk of a door closing again is followed by Kendrick sagging against me and leaning his forehead against mine.

My stomach shimmies, then flips at the contact. He was my protector in the dungeons, but Skylar made it clear that anything romantic I feel for him can't be reciprocated. I won't make the mistake of thinking she could be wrong when I'm smart enough to know better.

"Promise me something," I say, slowly pulling my hand from his lips.

He swallows. "What's that?"

I close my eyes, trying to memorize the sound of his voice this close and the feel of his breath in my ear. "Promise me you won't kiss me." Maybe part of the ring's magic doesn't work on him, but I can't risk assuming that the rest doesn't. It's the second time I've warned him. I need to protect him when I'm wearing this ring, and I need to protect myself when I'm not. "Not ever."

He pulls back and straightens to his full height. "I—" He snaps his mouth shut and scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Sorry. I was just trying to hide you."

"When I wear this ring, you don't need to hide me." I hope it's still true, but the fact that we're having this conversation is making me doubt the ring's magic more than even my fear of the dark did on the walk here.

"What is that ring? Why do you have it?"

"Like I said, revenge."

"You never told me how bad it was for you in there." Kendrick takes my hand—the one with the ring—and strokes his finger over the silver band before rubbing the moonstone under his thumb. "I wish you had. Promise me you'll never go out hunting like this again. I cannot stomach the possibility of you having to relive that hell."

I swallow. "That's a promise I can't make."

When he lifts his ice-blue eyes to mine, they're as hard as gemstones. "You will. "

I lift my chin and glare up at him. "Don't treat me like a child."

"Then don't act like one. Stop with this recklessness."

"Not until Mordeus is dead again. Not until I've killed him myself."

He shakes his head. "We'll talk about this in the morning. Let's get out of here." He tugs me toward the back of the room. "There's a servants' entrance back here."

I let him lead me down the stairs and away from the manor, and when we return to the inn, Natan's still on watch outside our rooms.

"Look who I found at the high captain's house trying to get herself killed," Kendrick tells Natan.

"Oh no." Natan's eyes are wide with panic as he looks me over. "Are you okay, Jasalyn? I hope you didn't get hurt."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Kendrick is exaggerating."

"You want to tell me how she got past you?" Kendrick demands.

Natan frowns. "I don't... Did I do something wrong?"

Kendrick looks back and forth between us. I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers, reminding him of the ring. "We'll talk about this in the morning." He points to my door. "Sleep." He nudges Natan toward the other door. "You too. I'll take watch for a few hours."

Natan looks at me, waiting like a puppy hoping for some attention.

"I'll see you in the morning, Natan," I say, smiling. "Thank you for your help tonight."

His shoulders sag in relief. He pleased me, and that's all he wants.

We watch him slip into the room. When the door closes behind him, Kendrick frowns at me. "What did you do to my historian?"

"It's the ring. He'll be himself in the morning and won't remember any of this."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

I shrug. "It's just information. It's up to you how you want to feel about it."

His gaze slips over me again. "You panicked when I almost kissed you. Is that about the ring too?"

I hesitate a beat. "Yeah."

"Care to explain?"

I hold his gaze. Can I explain that my magical ring gives me the kiss of death without sharing how I've been spending my nights for the last three months? "Ask me in the morning."

"Will I remember this in the morning?" he asks.

I turn the knob to my room, ready to step inside. "That's a good question. Only one way to find out."