Chapter 13

"Keep your wits about you, miss. You never know where rebellion filth will wash up. We'll be here when you're ready to leave." The guard seated next to me extends his hand and helps me step out of the carriage.

The driver parked the horses outside the market center. If Blackreach's shopping square is anything like the one in Innodell, it is bustling with townsmen and traders during the day, and barren at night. Most vendors close their booths around midday, and as I step down the first cobblestone alleyway, it is clear this one operates no differently. Storefronts with colorful canvas awnings line both sides of the narrow street. Signs promising spices and furs and steel hang on their wooden doors, inviting those wealthy enough to afford them inside, and in Blackreach, it is likely such luxuries are a household staple. Small linen bags labeled with assorted spices, oregano and parsley and ginger, sit neatly arranged on a shelf visible through one of the glass windows of a spice shop.

A business like this would never survive in my modest hometown where residents don't earn enough to afford anything other than necessities and have to scour their cupboards for a single spice to cook with. Cosmina and I helped remedy our lack of coin for seasonings by drying and pestling herbs into blends and storing them in small jars. Cosmina was especially a fan of crushing up dried sumac berries and sprinkling the lemon tasting powder onto freshly caught game before we dried and cured the meat. If she were here now, she'd undoubtedly pop her head into the quaint shop to look for some herbs that don't grow in our neck of the woods. I would peruse the spices and tinctures alongside her and probably search for vanilla beans or extract. Vanilla was a rarity in our home as vanilla pods are incredibly expensive, but perhaps I could strike a deal with the shopkeeper, offer a trade of some kind. Eldridge, despite his burly outer appearance, enjoys sweets more than any of us, and the vanilla would be the perfect complement to sweeten his usual breakfast of cornmeal pudding.

I step away from the shop window. None of that matters anymore. As long as I am tethered to Sin like his obedient lap dog, thoughts of the ones I care about are dangerous distractions.

The narrow alley spills into a cobblestone ring where most vendors are likely to set up their traveling booths. In this evening hour, no salesmen spin tales of the effects of their potions, no apron cladded women whistle to pedestrians to take home a basket of produce or freshly baked breads. The market is empty, except for the wavy-haired lord sitting on the bench at the far side of the circle.

Bennett stands as I approach, flashing that toothy smile and quickly appraising my vivid blue dress with the less than modest hemline. He wears a fitted velvet coat of cobalt blue with silver threading embellishing the pockets and shoulders. I suddenly dislike the dress I wear, noting the similar color pattern between our attires, and force a return smile around clenched teeth, silently cursing the Black Art who undoubtedly intended for me to be dressed in what are apparently Langston's signature house colors.

He bows at the waist and reaches for my hand, brushing his lips across the backs of my knuckles. "It's lovely to see you again, Lady Wren."

I smile with forced warmness, knowing it doesn't meet my eyes.

"I brought us dinner. I admit I didn't make it, but I did request my favorite cook in our home prepare it, and I insisted she bake jam puffs. I will accept full credit for that." He picks up the woven basket from the bench and holds it up for my appraisal. "There's a spot just over there with a great view of the Malachite."

"Lead the way, my Lord," I say, angling myself in the direction he pointed.

During our meeting in the war room this morning, I learned the Langstons reside at Castle Summerswind, the second largest dwelling in Blackreach, next only to Scarwood. It is still strange for me to hear someone refer to something as magnificent as a castle as home, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

I follow Bennett down another alley, past the shops selling exuberant goods and rarities, to a wooden pergola with a slatted roof, vines entwined through the lattice top in a touch of decorative greenery. A vase filled with red roses and bay leaf branches sits on the center of the cloth covered table. As promised, the open vastness of the Malachite River is visible from the pergola, no storefronts or houses between us and where the flowing current brushes shoulders with the city.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," I say with mock enthusiasm, knowing damn well it was servants that clipped these roses and set up this space.

"You like it?" Bennett's eyes light up as if he is truly pleased with himself for doing the bare minimum.

"Of course. It is very sweet, thank you." Did I just flutter my eyes?

"Sit, sit," he ushers, pulling out the chair closest to us.

Smoothing my dress around my backside, I sit in the pulled-out chair, and Bennett begins unloading the contents of the basket. Thick slices of bread, still warm from the oven judging from the sweet, yeasty aroma coming off them, strips of salted meat, an assortment of freshly cut cheeses, cubes of fruit, decadent jam puffs, and a bottle of wine. He pours us each a glass of the red drink and drops a few berries from the spread of fruit into both our glasses.

"So, tell me about your family. What is it your folks do to earn their keep?"

I grab a slice of bread and layer it with some of the meat and cheeses. "My parents own an inn. Nothing much, but we live comfortably enough, for Innodell." The half-truth rolls off my tongue with rehearsed ease. Mentioning I am estranged from my parents would provoke too many questions, so best to fabricate that little detail.

"And is that what you do as well? Work at the inn?"

"Yes, I help them manage it. I quite enjoy it."

Bennett purses his lips as he skewers a piece of fruit with his fork, and for a moment, I wonder if he has ever visited Innodell, or if he thinks it too modest of a town for someone of his stature to be seen in.

"Such a pity," he says, popping the piece of melon into his mouth.

"Pardon?"

"I just don't think someone who has been blessed with such beauty should have to hide it behind an inn counter."

I know he intends for the comment to flatter me, but his condescension of working class turns the food to lead in my stomach. "I don't mind it one bit, actually."

He reaches a hand towards me and thumbs a strand of loose hair behind my ear. I will myself not to smack it away.

"You're very beautiful, Wren. You could use that to advantage yourself, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

Bennett shrugs his shoulders as if forcing casualness. "There are several lords looking to wed. Women with your… attributes… are heavily desired."

"Attributes?"

He laughs softly to himself and fixes me with his gaze, his blue eyes darkening as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Let's just say I don't think you'd have a lick of trouble finding a suitor. You'd never have to find yourself behind an inn counter again." Lines crease in his forehead as if even the image of it repulses him.

"I find pleasure in the work."

"Wed a lord and you'll find all sorts of pleasures, Lady Wren."

My name sounds foreign on his tongue, like it doesn't belong. He stands and slides his chair around the table so that he sits next to me. Slowly, he reaches out and traces little circles across my knee and down my calf with his index finger. Oh, hell no. I'll bat my eyelashes at the Langston boy and let him feed me my fill of jam puffs, but no one is touching me. Sin sent me here with strict orders to pry into Bennett's collective and search for any secrets the elite family may be hiding. He said nothing of having to get too friendly with him. Maybe only because he knows I would have refused, or maybe because the Black Art possesses some morals after all, but the reason doesn't matter. I clear my throat pointedly and cross my leg over the other one, pulling it from his reach.

I bring my glass to my lips and inhale its aroma—hints of cedar and something sweet like nectar—before taking a sip. "Anything new in business? I overheard Singard and his father speaking about Legion this morning. I don't understand all the jargon," I say, feigning a nervous laugh and peering up at him through my eyelashes. "Is there any news on that front?" I fling my collective out and latch onto his, a spider dropping onto its next meal. His mind collapses under the weight of mine like a crushed daisy turning to dust in my fist. Not an inkling of magic coats his veins, and his mind opens for me like a freshly bound book.

"The rebellion and their allies are nothing to worry about. Don't let thoughts of them frighten you."

"Do they have a lot of allies?" I ask, noting his word choice.

"Hard to say. If they have any good ones, we wouldn't know about them, now would we?"

I hold his collective steady, primed to rip any sense of manipulation from it, but it remains limp, unreactive. "Do you have any suspicions?"

A low laugh rumbles from his chest, and he smiles while looking at the table, pondering. "If you wished to continue discussing politics, why didn't I just invite you to my home?"

"My apologies. I just find it all so fascinating, and I can only imagine the stress you and your family are under with all the unknowns." The lie comes out as smooth as the velvety wine I pull another sip of.

"I assure you, if we learn of anyone betraying the Black Art, they will be promptly dealt with. The Langstons will not tolerate anyone jeopardizing His Grace's impending war."

"Impending war? The kingdom has been at war with Legion for years."

Bennett raises an eyebrow at me. "I'm not talking about Legion. War against those things."

"Transcendents? Sin is going to declare war against all transcendents?"

"He'll have our support of course, but Sin knows he needs to weed out any lurking enemies of the throne before making any official declaration. He doesn't like to be caught by surprise, and I don't blame him. Surprises lead to mistakes which lead to lost coin. As soon as he gathers everything he needs, the transcendent problem will be quickly eradicated."

I go rigid, my blood hardening into a cardinal sheet of ice, the wind nipping my skin suddenly too cold, the air swelling my lungs too dry. I knew—I knew this would happen. The kingdom has been dragging their feet, slowly building prejudice against the shifters little by little, biding their time so that as soon as their immediate threat was dealt with, they'd set their sights on their next target. Transcendents.

My family.

And the Black Art has me out here doing his bidding like some kind of humble mercenary. White spots cloud my vision, my fists tighten, my breaths short and labored. I resist the urge to bare my teeth.

"You don't need to be frightened," he whispers, misreading the sudden lack of color in my face.

The sudden shift in his energy snaps my attention back to Bennett. Before I can react, he presses his lips against mine, his hand finding my calf again and wrapping itself around it. He slides his palm up my leg and squeezes my thigh as he tries parting my lips with his.

I clamp my hand down on top of his.

Pulling my mouth away from Bennett's, I let my collective snap back to its place behind my eye, not wanting to feel his desire a second longer.

"Was I—was I too forward?" he stammers.

"Yes. Don't do that again," I bark, not editing the hostility from my tone. "I should be getting back." I rise from my chair and tug the hem of my dress downward.

"I apologize if I alarmed you, my Lady. I suppose I thought your choice of dress was indicative of your interest in… in me. I clearly misread the air between us." He clears his throat loudly and looks away before continuing. "May I call on you again, Miss Wren?" No. No you may not.

"I think it's best you allow me to call on you should I be interested in your attentions again, Mr. Langston. Thank you for dinner." I dip into a quick curtsy out of obligation, though any respect I still harbored for Bennett before the date is long gone.

"I'll walk you back."

"No need, I made note of the way."

He nods. "Very well. Please send my regards to Sin and his lovely lady."

I incline my head in acknowledgment and carry myself back to the carriage, still parked where the driver let me out.

Against those things.

Sin sent me out here, having me believe I was vetting the Langstons for information that would allow the kingdom to close in on Legion, protecting my family. But it wasn't his war on Legion he was concerned with. He wanted to use me to gain information that would benefit his war on the transcendent race.

His war on my family.

I step into the carriage and stare at the black quilted walls of the coach, refusing to make eye contact with any of the guards sent with me to make sure no harm came to the Black Art's precious spy.

Red stains my sight. I am not a puppet, and Sin does not pull my strings. I learned a valuable lesson today—the kingdom will never offer protection to my family, no matter what bargains I strike with its leader. I think it's time the Black Art learns a lesson of his own tonight.

You do not pick a fight with a bloodwitch.