Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Leaning over the neat row of fiery-pink dianthus, I curled my fingers around the base of a dandelion. Feeling a bit guilty, I tore the little sucker from the soil. With all their medicinal benefits, the weeds wouldn’t go wasted, but I still felt bad for tearing them out for purely cosmetic reasons.

It didn’t help that my mind conjured up woeful shrieks every time I yanked out a weed.

As I tossed the weed into the basket of its cohorts, my attention shifted to the purplish-blue spikes of catmint. At once, I saw him— heard his voice and felt him.

My Hyhborn lord.

Last night . . . it felt like a fever dream, but the grisly memories of seeing him impaled to that table were all too real, as was the shower. Touching him. The feel of him beneath my palms. The brush of his lips against my bruised skin.

Still, none of it felt real— I’d known I would see him again, but never in two lifetimes would I have expected what had happened. My reaction to him. My want. Need. Any of it.

A faint shudder rocked me as I reopened my eyes and looked up, past the stone walls of the manor, toward the city of Archwood. Dual streams of smoke still filled the air near the wharf.

I swallowed, skin chilling despite the warmth of the early-morning sun.

When I had woken after only a few hours, if that, of sleep, I’d found myself staring at the lunea dagger lying on the nightstand beside my bed. I’d snatched it from the cupboard as I left the blacksmith’s house. Taking it wasn’t something I’d consciously thought of doing. I’d just done it, guided by intuition.

And as I’d stared at that strange blade, I’d thought about what I needed to do. Claude had to be made aware of the apparently very active shadow market in Archwood, and the fact that at least two of his guards were involved in not only the trade but the harvesting.

Knowing that Claude wouldn’t be awake until later, I’d headed out to the gardens in hopes of stilling my mind. The gardens and having my hands in the soil would’ve helped if not for the smoke I’d spotted as soon as I stepped out of the manor. I didn’t need my gifts to know what the cause of the fires was.

Him.

It was why he’d said I didn’t want him to answer the question of what he was going to do.

He’d sought revenge. But could it even count as revenge when whatever his actions were likely prevented another Hyhborn from being used in such a manner? Sounded more like justice to me, as harsh as that was.

I hadn’t seen Finn or Mickie that morning, but I hadn’t exactly looked for them as I entered the gardens. I thought— no, I knew— there was no reason to. They were no longer of this realm.

And I didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for them, not even Finn and his nice smiles. What they were a part of was wrong, horrific even. It was nothing like the stories I’d heard of people digging up Hyhborn graves to use what was left of their remains. They were committing torture and murder, and if they had succeeded in draining the Lord of all his blood? Harvesting his . . . his parts and selling them on the shadow market? Eventually, those kinds of deeds always came to light. I needed no intuition to tell me how King Euros would respond if he learned of what had been attempted against one of his lords. He’d send the dreaded Prince of Vytrus to handle Archwood, and whatever unrest was happening at the border would be the least of our problems.

But it wasn’t even that terrible reality that caused my heart to seize. It was the idea that . . . that he could’ve died. The mere thought made me sick to my stomach, and I shouldn’t have that kind of reaction to it, no matter the brief past I wasn’t sure he even remembered.

Was he still in Archwood?

I remained still, silencing my thoughts, but nothing came.

But I hoped—

“No,” I whispered, cutting that particular idiotic thought off. I would not hope to see him again. Besides the fact that he was a lord, there was always the risk of a Hyhborn discovering my abilities and accusing me of being a conjurer.

It would be best if I never saw him again.

No,that voice whispered in my mind, it would not be.

A shadow appeared beside mine, blocking out the early-morning glare of the sun. I looked over my shoulder, spotting Grady.

“Been looking for you,” he announced. “You hear about the fires early this morning?”

“No, but I’ve seen the smoke.” I nibbled on my lower lip. “Do . . . do you know what happened?”

“The Twin Barrels and Jac’s— the blacksmith’s place—burned. That’s what Osmund told me,” he said, referring to another guard. “He was on the wall early this morning when the fires started.”

I tensed.

“When I first heard of the fires, I was hoping it was the Iron Knights— ”

“Gods, Grady,” I cut him off, stomach twisting. “You shouldn’t even be thinking that, let alone speaking it out loud.”

“What?” Grady rolled his eyes. “There isn’t anyone out here.”

“You don’t know who could be near and overhear you,” I pointed out. “If someone did and reported you?” My heart stuttered. “You’d be tried for treason, Grady, and by tried, I mean executed without a trial.”

“Yeah, and you can’t tell me that’s not wrong,” he shot back. “The fact that the mere suspicion of being sympathetic to the Iron Knights ends in death or worse? Like what was done to Astoria?”

“It is messed up, and so is hoping the Iron Knights had something to do with the fires since you know exactly what happened to Astoria.”

“Again, you can’t tell me that’s not also wrong.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. . . .” I trailed off, staring at him. Ever since news of Beylen and the Iron Knights first reached Archwood, Grady had shown more than a passing interest in what was being said about the rebels. And how could he not? Both of us were products of a kingdom that cared very little for its most vulnerable, but we had a life now. We had a future, and I had already risked that enough for the both of us. Worry gnawed at me as I looked away.

“Anyway,” Grady said with a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t the Iron Knights. Osmund said the flames were golden, and you know only one thing can create that kind of fire.” Grady continued, “But that’s not all.”

Knots formed in my stomach. “It’s not?”

“No. There were bodies found. Two at the blacksmith’s and three at the Twin Barrels.”

I shouldn’t feel relief, but I did. The death toll could’ve been higher just at the Twin Barrels, where rooms were always rented. And it could’ve been catastrophic if the Lord had done as he said he would have, leaving half the city in ruins.

“That’s terrible news,” I mumbled, because I honestly didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah.” Grady’s brows knitted as he looked at the sky. “You don’t seem all that surprised.”

“I don’t?”

He was quiet for only a moment. “What do you know?”

My head swung back to him. “What do you mean?”

He searched my eyes, trusting that if I lost my grip on my intuition, I would look away. Or if I did see something, I wouldn’t tell him. Grady, like Naomi, didn’t want to know what the future held for him, and I could respect that. “How long have we known each other?”

I raised a brow. “Some days it feels like forever.”

“Yeah, this is one of them,” he retorted, and I wrinkled my nose. “You tried to lie to me earlier and you’re doing it again. When have you ever been able to successfully lie to me?”

“If I had, you wouldn’t know.” I gave him a cheeky smile. “Now would you?”

There was no smile. There were no dimples. “Osmund saw you last night, Lis, leaving the manor grounds.”

“And?”

“He also saw you returning hours later, riding like a bat out of hell.”

“I’m not sure where this is going?”

“You were wearing a different cloak upon your return.”

My mouth dropped open. “How could he tell that?”

Grady shrugged. “I guess he has really good eyes.”

“Gods,” I muttered.

“So? You going to be honest with me now?”

I opened my mouth, but words abandoned me. I was such a pathologically terrible liar. Especially when it came to Grady, because he knew me well enough to know that my lack of response to the news about the fires meant something. He knew me better than I did some days.

And lying to Grady, or trying to at the very least, always felt wrong. If he’d managed to peel me off when I first latched on to him, I wouldn’t have made it out of the first orphanage I’d been sent to after the Prioress of Mercy had died and no successor replaced her. I’d been weak. A hindrance. I didn’t know how to fend for myself— how to move about without making a sound. The streets we were left to roam were an unfamiliar and scary maze to me, nor did I know how to avoid the caretakers’ careless hands and fists.

Grady had been kind, even then. Or he’d simply taken pity on me. Either way, eventually I was no longer shadowing him but he was making sure I was right behind him. He made sure I survived.

Grady still made sure I survived.

Sighing, I crossed my arms. “I couldn’t sleep after leaving the Great Chamber and I went into the stables to spend time with Iris. While I was there, I overheard two people talking— Finn and Mickie. They had captured a Hyhborn.”

“Fuck,” he murmured.

I nodded slowly. “And I had to do something about it.”

Grady’s head tipped toward mine. “What?”

“I got this urge— you know, this need to do it. I had to— ”

“Are you about to tell me that you went by yourself to free this Hyhborn?”

I cringed. “I didn’t want to involve you— ”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes. Completely.”

Grady sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Dear gods.”

I took a deep breath, and then I told him what had happened— well, almost everything. One of the things I left out was the whole shower situation. He didn’t need to know that. “So, those fires? It has to be this Hyhborn lord.”

“I couldn’t give two shits about this lord at the moment,” Grady exclaimed, his gaze roaming over my face. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? Should I summon one of the physicians and have you checked over?”

“Nothing hurts. Seriously. I’m fine.” And I was. There hadn’t been a single bruise or even a dull ache when I looked myself over this morning.

“This Hyhborn lord you talked to?” Grady drew my attention back to him. “Was he from Primvera?”

“No, but I don’t know where he is from.” My stomach dipped and twisted. I hadn’t told Grady that the Lord had been my Hyhborn lord. Grady didn’t like to talk about that night in Union City. That wasn’t a good enough excuse for not saying anything, but I’d also never told him that I knew I’d see the Lord again.

Glancing at the horizon, I saw that the faint traces of smoke remained, and it happened again. The coldness between my shoulder blades and the hollow in my stomach. The whisper returned, repeating the same two words it had said in the Great Chamber.

He’s coming.

Upon returning, I found the Baron in his study, seated at the settee with a cloth draped over his forehead and eyes, thankfully alone.

Straw hat in hand, I pushed the door all the way open. “Claude?”

He lifted a limp wrist. “Lis, darling, do come in.”

I closed the door behind me and went to the matching forest-green settee across from the one he sat in. “How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m feeling quite well.” He leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. “Can’t you tell?”

I smiled a little, sort of amused by the fact that even caelestias could get hangovers. “Yes, you look energetic and ready to seize the day.”

“You are too kind, pet.” A wan grin appeared beneath the pale blue cloth. “What brings you to me this morning?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I do hope it’s good news.” When I didn’t answer, he peeled the cloth back from one half-open eye. “What in the gods’ name are you wearing?”

I glanced down at myself, confused. I wore an old threadbare blouse and a pair of breeches that I found a few years back, left behind in the laundry chambers. Granted, the pants had seen better days, but they were perfect for when I was outside. “I was in the gardens.”

An eyebrow rose. “Whose pants are those?”

“I have no idea,” I said, and his lip curled like the idea of wearing someone else’s clothes made him want to vomit. “I . . . I know something that could potentially be a bad thing.”

Claude sighed, removing the cloth. He dropped it on the end table. “Hopefully it’s not more strange, golden fires.”

“You’ve heard?”

“Hymel woke me with the news.” He picked up what I hoped was only a glass of orange juice. “Is it about that?”

“I’m not sure.” I chose my words wisely. “Last night, I came across Finn and Mickie— two of your guards.”

The look on his face told me he had no idea who I was talking about.

“And I learned something about them,” I shared. “They are involved in the shadow market.”

Claude lowered his glass. “In what way?”

“The worst way,” I said. “Harvesting . . . parts for bone magic.”

He stared at me for a moment. “For fuck’s sake, are you sure?”

I stared at him.

“Yes. Of course you are.” He set the glass aside as he dropped his boot to the floor. The dark shirt he wore moved like liquid silk over his shoulders as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Those fires? Hymel said the magistrates had heard from witnesses that the flames were golden.”

“That’s what Grady told me.” My fingers curled along the rim of my hat. “They weren’t successful in their harvesting.”

“I wouldn’t think so based on the charred remains found after the fires were put out,” he remarked, and my stomach soured. “Porter? The owner of the Twin Barrels? He was engaged in this business?”

I nodded. “I don’t know how many are involved, but . . .”

“But at least two of my guards are?” His jaw tightened. “Or were, if they were among the bodies discovered.”

“There was another name that I’ve heard. A Muriel.”

Claude frowned. “Muriel?”

“Yes. I’m not sure who that is.”

He eyed me for a moment, then sat back. A moment passed. “The last thing we need is for Prince Rainer to believe Archwood is a haven for those seeking to use bone magic.”

Prince Rainer oversaw the Court of Primvera. I had never seen the Hyhborn, but Claude said the Prince was a friendly sort. Hopefully he continued to be that way.

“I can try to see if any other guards are involved,” I offered.

Claude’s chest rose with a heavy breath. “Thank you for coming to me, and for your aid. That would be appreciated.”

I nodded, beginning to rise. “Hopefully they were it.”

“Yes,” Claude murmured, squinting as he stared out the window. “Hopefully.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.” I started to leave, then stopped. “Would you like something for your headache? I have some peppermint— ”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” His smile turned wry as he looked up at me. “The headaches are deserved.”

They probably were, but I didn’t think that meant he needed to suffer. “You sure?”

“Yes, pet. I am.”

Hesitating for a moment, I then turned. I made it only a few steps.

“Pet?”

I faced him. “Yes?”

He’d picked up the cloth. “Are you happy here?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” At once, my stomach dropped as my mind went to the worst-case scenario. For him to ask something similar twice in the span of twenty-four hours unnerved me. “Are you not happy with me?”

“No— no. That’s not why I asked,” he was quick to say. “I’m lucky to have you.” He twisted at the waist, toward me. “I just want to make sure you know that.”

“I do,” I whispered.

Claude smiled, but there was something off about it. Tired, even brittle, but I imagined that had more to do with the ache in his head.

“Feel better,” I said, crossing the study. Something struck me then— about this Muriel.

I didn’t know . . . anything about him. Nothing came to me, which could mean only one thing.

Muriel was a Hyhborn.

But that made little sense. Why would a Hyhborn be involved in bone magic?