Chapter 9

Autumn

This is one for the ages, Autumn thought as she fingered Quinton's ciphered note one final time before summoning a spark of fire to burn it to ash. Quinton was asking for help. She'd not have believed it if not for the cypher. Quinton was as stubborn and secretive as Coal, Autumn's brother-in-law, and she would have sooner wagered on the sun dimming than Quinton not only calling for aid, but being desperate enough to risk exposing both of them. Actually, if it was just the sun at stake, Autumn doubted Quinton would have gone as far as he had. But it was more than the sun. It was his mate on the line.

Autumn understood. Which is how she found herself at the Massa'eve palace being ushered past a pair of guards into Ettienne's office.

"Your majesty." Autumn curtsied, the translucent chiffon sleeves billowing slightly around her wrists. Her dress had enough embroidery to be regal, but today movement was as important as appearance.

"Your Highness." The king of Massa'eve stood smoothly from behind his mahogany desk and inclined his head with the courtesy and precision of a trained politician. "How can I be of service?"

Despite the clear amount of work piled atop Ettienne's desk, he made a good pretense that there was nothing he'd rather be doing than entertaining the Lunos ambassador.

Tall and broad shouldered, Ettienne was a good looking male—if one had a taste for males in general—with a cold steel core to match those looks. Once he made up his mind, Ettienne did not think twice before cutting a throat open. Yet he was also the only ruler on the eastern continent to think of humans as a sentient race, worthy of respect as a whole. And the only monarch on this side of the world willing to open his libraries to a scholar from a foreign court.

"I've an important matter to discuss." Autumn glanced pointedly at the guards who'd flanked her and still stood in the room.

Ettienne studied Autumn for only a moment before making a gesture that sent his henchmen scuttling back into the corridor. Walking over to a crystal decanter set on a side table, Ettienne poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to her. "What is on your mind?"

Well, wasn't that a loaded question. How exactly did one tell a king who was busy staving off civil war that he's been serving up his own people for slaughter for centuries, never mind that his top intelligence agent had revealed the entire operation to his foreign counterpart?

Autumn took a small sip of what turned out to be a decadent drink, then put her glass down in favor of a tea cake from a nearby platter. After a moment's thought, she took a second. This was going to be a long day, and the little cakes had bits of chocolate baked into them.

"Should I send for the pastry chef?" Ettienne inquired.

It was probably a shot at her, but Autumn shrugged. "There is nothing I'd love more. Unfortunately, we've more existential matters to attend to just now. Can your majesty be in two places at once for a few hours?"

The king raised a brow and took a sip of the brandy, the sigil ring that he wore as a sign of office catching the light from the sun. It was more than just a symbol—the rune inscribed on it was a key to ancient magic—but Autumn doubted most people here realized that. The king marked her watching the ring but made no reference to it as he spoke. "It's Ettienne, Lady Autumn. As I've mentioned before, we need not stand on ceremony when we are alone. As for your other question, I am not sure I understand."

Of course he understood. She'd been wrong—this was going to be a three cake type of afternoon. "I need to have a conversation with you elsewhere," Autumn said bluntly. "Without the rest of the palace aware of the change in venue."

"I fear such action would bring undue danger to us both," Ettienne said. "Not to mention the potential scandal. The Massa'eve court loves nothing more than to gossip."

In other words, I'm too busy and too smart to take you at your word. Well, that was not altogether unexpected, but Autumn had owed it to Quinton to try. Alas, that was all the time she could spare on the attempt. Autumn straightened her dress. "When shadows whisper, the mountain echoes, Ettienne."

Ettienne's face went cold at Quinton's coded phrase, the glass in his hand shattering to spray brandy onto the floor. Then he was in motion, a knife in his hand, the blade pressed to Autumn's throat. The cold metal bit into her skin, a small sting spreading where the king was a hair's breadth from drawing blood.

Quinton conveniently forgot to mention this reception. On the other hand, she'd plainly gotten the words correct. Autumn stood statue still, not tensing—much less moving—a single muscle. Her brother-in-law, Coal, was prone to similar outbursts when someone he truly cared about was threatened, and she knew how to handle the volatile males.

"You seem to have dropped your drink," Autumn said.

"Is my son still alive?" Ettienne demanded softly.

"He is very difficult to kill. Though if you think Quinton pulled this trigger for his own sake, you know little of him."

The pressure on Autumn's throat lessened and she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that more than a little relief flooded her veins. The signal was one of last resort, to be used when an operative did not expect to return. For the head of the Massa'eve network to send it through a foreign princess… Well, Autumn still was not fully certain whether Ettienne might send her to interrogation and skip the formalities. She cleared her throat, barely avoiding cutting herself on the blade Ettienne still held there. "Shall we keep dancing, or have you worked out a way of being in two places at once?"

Ettienne stepped back, his knife disappearing into his belt sheath. "I respect your skepticism," he said, all business now. "But this truly is the best place for you to deliver your message."

"Given that the message is attached to an injured dragon, I'm afraid the logistics are not in my favor." Skipping to the point, she gave him the address and watched Ettienne's gaze shift toward the ceiling, as if the male was visualizing a map inside his mind. Autumn sympathized. The last thing any king wanted was to walk a foreign intelligence agent though the network of secret passages he reserved for himself.

But Ettienne would do it. For that phrase he would.

Ettienne rocked back on his heels, only to spin around a heartbeat later as a knock sounded at the door. Autumn let her magic flood into her, her senses sharpening. Ettienne gave her a half-concealed smirk. Just to let her know that he noticed. The knock sounded again. More persistent.

"What is it?" Ettienne barked.

The door opened to a panting messenger with two guards at his back. All the males touched their hearts in salute.

"A letter from the priests of Orion, your majesty," the messenger said, holding out the letter.

Ettienne took it, breaking the seal with his thumb. "The timetable of the next trial has been changed," he said with a lazy drawl that Autumn suspected was as fake as the troop movement report the king just happened to have laying about on top of his desk. "The competitors will be summoned to the arena twelve hours earlier than expected."

"Your orders, my liege?"

Ettienne shrugged. "Advise everyone who might want to attend of the time change. Whoever is unhappy can complain to the priests. First though, alert the warden that I wish to question the bard again." He held out his hand, motioning for Autumn to proceed him out of the office after the guard. "If you might indulge me, Your Highness, I believe you will find this prisoner's words worth your time."

Autumn highly doubted this, but Ettienne was leaving her little choice. It was her turn to trust him—and hope she was still alive at the end. Letting none of that concern touch her face, Autumn summoned her best courtier's smile and strolled after him.

The dungeons in Massa'eve were no more pleasant than those in Slate court, especially as they neared what was clearly an interrogation wing. Here Autumn felt her stomach turn, bile rising in her throat as door after door was unlocked until they were in the kind of room that turned even the most iron of bellies to water. The air was putrid, the stench of burned meat mingling with the musky stink of urine and feces that trailed toward the small drain in the center of the floor. A number of freshly lit oil lamps cast a sickly glow over an array of pliers, branding irons and what appeared to be bone saws, each stained with telltale signs of their previous use. A wooden rack stood against one wall, its leather straps frayed and stained dark with old blood. The worst however, was the sad heap of a male chained in the corner.

"Look alive, Merrick," the warden who'd taken over the escort called to the prisoner. "You have company."

The male, Merrick, jerked at the sound and scrambled to his knees. "No, please. My lord. I know nothing more." There was no dignity left in that voice. Only terror that vibrated through Autumn's bones. "I know nothing more. I swear it."

"I care little for oaths of a dragon killer," Ettienne said icily before turning to the warden. "Leave us."

Autumn wheeled on Ettienne the moment they were alone. "We don't have time for whatever you intend here." She hoped she sounded as composed as she intended. "If this is a warning about the consequences of double crossing you -"

"- don't presume to know what I intend." Ettienne stalked toward Merrick, whose screams and pleading intensified with each pace the king got closer. The magic inside Autumn's veins vibrated, but there was nothing for her to do. At that moment, she was as much a prisoner of Ettienne's will as the poor soul chained to the wall. Her heart quickened. Ettienne grabbed a bucket of water from the floor.

Merrick wailed.

One step away now.

Magic gathered in Autumn's hands, ready to strike. But she couldn't. She was no match for the king, not head on. She knew that. And even if she were, Quinton's plea…

Ettienne stopped at Merrick's feet, depositing the bucket on the floor. "Pace yourself. I'll require several hours."

Merrick bowed, his screams never wavering.

Ettienne weighted him critically. "As many as six."

The prisoner bowed again, this time adding a flourish with his arms while sobs escaped his lips.

"Braggart." Ettienne nudged the bucket closer. "The water is clean. We'll see about the rest when I return." Striding to the wall on the rack side of the room, Ettienne pressed what appeared to be normal stones. A portion of the wall slid open, revealing a passage into a corridor beyond. "If you are through contemplating ways to smite me, Your Highness, we should be going. I dare say Merrick has more faith in the longevity of his voice than I do—and given the words you've invoked, I imagine we have a great deal to do in very little time."