Chapter 15

The thick purple liquid shimmers in the vial like a sea of violet stars. I swirl it around, eyeing the thin film coating the sides of the bottle, and scrunch my nose. "What is this stuff?"

"I don't know, nor do I desire to learn. But Cassius said its effects are instantaneous. He also said it tastes like a horse's ass, so here—" Sin tosses an orange at me. "It will help dilute the flavor."

He continues raiding the large kitchen pantry and shoving provisions into his brown leather saddle bag. Mine sits already packed with several changes of clothes and some basic necessities on the long rectangular table in the center of the castle's oversized kitchen.

"How far into Autumnhelm is your dwelling?"

"If we leave soon, we can get there by nightfall," I answer, pulling back the bumpy peel of the fruit. And thank the goddess for that because the thought of camping with the Black Art again turns my morning breakfast of bannock and eggs to lead in my stomach. A servant had our morning meals already prepared and waiting for us in the kitchen when I came downstairs this morning. The generous helping of grains and protein will help fuel us for the long ride ahead, and the salted meats, array of breads, nuts and other jarred foods Sin shoves into the bag will hold us over until we arrive.

He buttons the saddle bag closed, kicks the pantry door shut behind him, and swipes the twin glass vial from the table. Popping the lid open with a thrust of his thumb, he brings it to his nose and inhales gingerly. "Mmm. I only hope it tastes as decadent as it smells," he says with a smile that is pure mischief.

I wasn't sure what his demeanor would be towards me this morning given our physical altercation last night, but he merely greeted me with a glance when I found myself in the kitchen, slid the potion across the table at me, and began raiding the oversized pantry. As sunny as usual, then.

Sin motions with his chin for me to pick up my matching tonic. I open the lid and dare a sniff, then immediately hold the bottle at arm's length as I turn my head over my shoulder, a shuddering cough shaking free. It smells earthy and foul, dirt and shit with a hint of something floral, but I can't place it. Like cheap perfume that was left sitting out in the stables on a balmy summer afternoon. "That is revolting," I say, turning back to eye the strange liquid.

"Bottoms up." He throws his head back, guzzling down the thick purple substance, and slams the vial onto the table. He points to the orange with a long finger and waves towards himself, his other hand a fist against his lips as if forcing himself to keep the contents down. I quickly hand the now peeled orange to him, and he bites into it, grimacing as he chews the sweet fruit. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and nods towards the bottle I still hold, swishing the purple potion around. "Down with it, then."

Pinching my nose closed with my thumb and finger, I bring the tonic to my lips and dump it down my throat. Immediately, I reach for the orange and sink my teeth into its juicy flesh, focusing only on the notes of sweet citrus on my tongue and not on the other heinous flavors coating my mouth. I look back to Sin who appears to have collected himself and wait a sec—

"I thought you said it was instantaneous," I say, noting his unaltered appearance.

"It is. I made sure Cassius crafted it so you and I keep our likeness to each other."

"You mean everyone else will see us differently now, except for us?"

"Precisely. Cassius is waiting for us at the stables to confirm it worked the way he intended, but I am willing to wager you and I look nothing like ourselves to the rest of the world."

I consider his words, holding out my arms in front of me, noting they don't look any different. I don't feel any different either. "Why did you instruct him to spell it that way?"

Sin slings his saddle bag over his shoulder, and grabbing my own, I follow him outside through a door in the back of the kitchen, likely a private entrance for the staff.

"I may not have known you for long, but long enough to learn the subtleties of your movements. Had your appearance changed, I'm not sure if that would have affected your facial expressions and body language."

I halt in the stone path leading to the stables. "You what?" It shouldn't surprise me he has been studying my movements. Sin has probably spent his entire life deciphering lies and weeding out enemies of the throne. Enemies of his father and Ephraim, and now his own. But still, the thought of him making notes of my patterns to use against me is unnerving.

He cuts his steps also and turns to face me. "Knowing your enemy is synonymous with survival. I wouldn't think I'd need to explain that to a bloodwitch."

I scowl and shake my head, my braid swinging side-to-side down my back, though I'm not sure what my hair really looks like to everyone else. "Ever the strategist," I grumble.

"This way, should you tighten the lines of that pretty mouth again, I'll know you're about to strike me. Which I'll remind you, you've done three times now. May I suggest we not go for the fourth? I'm not sure how much longer I can cage my temper." He turns and continues walking towards the stables, and my black leather boots unglue themselves from the path a second later.

"Choking me against a wall is caging your temper?"

He ignores my question, and we walk the rest of the way to the stables in silence, the clacking of our leather soled riding boots against the ground the only sound between us. The faintest glow of daybreak warms the sky while the crisp morning air of early spring, still edged in winter's ice, nips at my cheeks.

Two horses, already fitted with saddles and bridles, neigh softly as we enter the dimly lit stables. One is a dapple-gray mare, its mane a vivid white with charcoal tips, and a matching tail braided in a similar style to my own. The other is a light tan, the shade of its velvety coat similar to that of the sandbars that stretch along the eastern border of Innodell. Its ebony mane rivals the mare's for beauty, and its long tail gently flicks behind it, unbound. I turn to Sin, my mouth falling open at the realization. He didn't.

"Did you have them styled in our image?"

"They are modeled after your true appearances, yes. His Grace has an affinity for dark humor."

I spin to face the voice behind me. Cassius emerges from a supply closet and slaps his hands together, as if ridding them of hay dust. I look back to Sin. "Really? You insist on tagging along, forcing us to drink those nasty tonics to disguise our identities, just to have our horses styled in our likeness?"

He shrugs and moves to secure his saddle bag to the large brown steed, but not before I glimpse the smirk on his mouth.

"I can't believe you would do something so risky and—"

"Enough. No one is going to make the realization." He reaches for the saddle bag looped over my arm, and I let him take it.

"You are insufferable, do you know that? For someone who acts like they've never laughed at a joke in their life, you sure have a twisted sense of humor."

Attaching my bag to the light-colored mare, Sin glances to Cassius still lingering just outside the closet. "How do we look?"

"Marvelous, Your Grace. You wouldn't suspect a thing."

I study Sin carefully, letting my eyes drift in and out of focus, searching for a weak spot in the glamour, but his image never falters. He looks as he always has, except he is dressed more casual today, given we are in for a full day's ride. He wears a fitted black shirt with silver threading along the chest pocket, dark trousers, and a twin set of swords strapped in an X pattern on his back. So much for blending in…

"What do we look like? We should know that right, so if we reference each other, we know what to describe?" I ask.

"Take out your braid," Cassius instructs.

"Why?"

"The magic alters your hair color, but the length and movement will be the same. Even in your disguise, your hair is braided, and given Legion knows you style your hair like that, you should take it out."

I reach for the ties securing my hair and unravel the braid, combing through it with my fingers.

"Better. His Grace's hair remains long but it is a golden blonde with a slight curl. His skin tone is a shade lighter as well, and his eyes are brown. You are brunette with blue eyes, and your complexion is a touch darker. Your heights and weights remain the same so your movements appear natural."

I stow the information away and approach the dapple-gray horse, letting her sniff my hand and patting her gently on the snout. Sin exchanges some final words with Cassius while I pet her side, and she snorts approvingly. I lift my foot into the stirrup and hoist myself onto her back, but I undershoot and grip the saddle horn as I begin to slide down her side. Shit.

Hands are on me immediately, one on my lower back to keep me from falling the rest of the way, and the other on my calf guiding it over the horse's rear. Warmth rushes to my cheeks in embarrassment, and I grip the reins a little too tightly, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the owner of those tan hands. I sit up straighter, priming my tongue to refute whatever insult regarding my inexperience he thrusts at me, but he returns to Cassius without a word as if the exchange never happened. With a nudge forward and a slap of the reins, I ease the mare into a walk, and she guides us through the wide opened doors.

Sin rides up next to me, the wind whipping his midnight hair behind him, mirroring the steed's tail that billows out at his rear. "Some ground rules before we take off. First, when we arrive at your… den, you need to stay close to me so your animal friends don't smell the glamour on me."

I don't turn to look at him, focusing on the sharp points of the gray watchtower in the distance instead. "Then it's a good thing we enjoy each other's company so much."

"Secondly, what is my name?"

"Excuse me?"

"Our ruse won't last long if you're calling me Sin, now will it? What is a name you will remember and not slip up and call me the wrong thing?"

I purse my lips. "Hm. Dickhead has a nice ring to it."

He exhales sharply.

"What, you don't like it?"

"We needn't bother disguising you as a lady because your mouth would surely allude to your status, or rather, lack thereof."

I shrug off the insult. "We can call you dick for short."

"Do you always bring up dicks when men speak of your mouth, little witch?"

I shoot him a glare that might have made a less stubborn man fall from their mount. "Keep talking like that, and you'll find yourself without one, Your Grace. Speaking of which, I should be armed in case we find ourselves in trouble." In case you shoved iron in that bag when I wasn't looking.

"Tell me, Wren, do you think demanding a blade in the same breath you threatened to remove my c—"

"Please don't finish that sentence," I interrupt, "but yes, I should have a means of defense that isn't my magic."

Sin pulls his horse to a stop, and I mirror him on my mare. He leans over and rummages through the bag hanging from the left side of his saddle. When he rights himself, a six-inch dagger with a black hilt and a holster are in his hands.

"If I give this to you—"

"I promise not to castrate you."

I reach for the knife, and he hands it to me hilt first. The handle is bumpy like fine gravel, allowing me to grip it easier, and the blade is honed to a lethal point. I weigh it in my palm, and he holds out the holster. Balancing myself on the horse, I fasten the twin black leather straps around my thigh and slide the dagger into the sheathe. Ideally, I'd prefer to have the weapon hidden, but given my attire of a white flowy tunic and black leggings, strapped over my pants will have to do. The holster is clearly designed for a woman's leg, and the Black Art isn't foolish enough to leave any weapon unsecured to his body, not where prying eyes might spot it. He already planned for this and intended on arming me. Why he made me ask for it, I don't know.

"If you won't let me have my first choice of names, I'll introduce you as Roarke." My gut clenches at the thought of lying to my family—deceiving them to believe the man at my side is an escort and not the hot-tempered leader plotting their extinction.

Sin raises an eyebrow at the name but doesn't dispute it. "Lead the way."

"Gladly. Oh, and Sin," I drop my eyes to his lips, then drag them slowly down his neck, "if this is a trap and you try to lay a finger on my family, I will slit your throat ear to ear." The smile I give him is as sweet as Bennett's jam puffs, and I take off in a gallop.