20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I pack my stealth gear, my rope, safe picking supplies and daggers in a bag and hand them to Eoin. Something hangs in the air between us in the silence, and a small knot forms in my stomach. I can't take it anymore.

"I think . . ." we speak in unison, then chuckle.

"You go first." I finish my glass of water and put it in the sink basin.

"I think we should cool things off for now," Eoin says, resting his forearms on the counter opposite me.

The knot in my gut tightens. "Because you're afraid of me?"

His gaze briefly dips to my lips, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. "Mostly because it's a distraction neither of us can risk right now. We can't screw up this first relic, especially now that we know who we're working for." His eyes leave mine, and he peers out the window.

"I felt some things. . .when we kissed." He audibly swallows.

The knot in my gut remains for an entirely different reason. "Things? Was it the curse? Is it real?"

"Perhaps. I'm not sure."

"What's it like?"

He runs his finger and his thumb across his brows. "I'd rather not say."

Secrets. We've never had secrets before. And here he is, withholding possible information about the curse— my curse . It hurts, but the hypocrisy of those feelings doesn't go unnoticed. I've yet to tell him about the voice in my head. That guilt grows in the pit of my stomach each day, like rust on a nicked blade.

"Alright. We can put this behind us for now. Tomas is counting on us." I need to firmly place Eoin back in the friend space in my mind. He's lived there for so long, it can't be too hard. Can it? "Friends?"

"Always." Eoin rounds the counter and pulls me into a tight embrace. A faint knock at the door sounds, and he pulls me away, studying my face. "Be careful. Slow and steady; you know what you're doing." I nod and turn my attention to the door.

I bring the two stolen kitchen aprons out with me into the chilly air. It's nearly dawn, and Moira and Nondis have impeccable timing.

"Take these. The two girls who are supposed to deliver the Filabrina Bubbly Wine before the ceremony are going to nap the day away." I hand the aprons to Moira. "When it's time, slip in, grab the bottles, and head to the throne room."

"How will we know when it's time?" Nondis asks.

"Trust me, you'll know."

***

I mentally cycle through our plan while peeling boiled eggs, but it's utter chaos in the castle kitchen as we begin early preparations for the wedding feast. Before I know it, it's time for me to slip away. I grab one of the serving trays of meat and cheese and head out as if this were my duty and purpose for the day. No one stops me.

I carry the tray all the way to the garden and retrieve my bag from the sycamore tree. As I journey to the south wall, several couples file past me without giving me a second glance. Their unrestrained exuberance an indication that they're used to overlooking servants.

I crouch behind the tall decorative grass and await my seven-minute window. For it to work, we both must time this perfectly.

Breathing deeply, I mentally prepare myself to climb the wall in broad daylight with hundreds of extra people at the castle. I pray we did a good enough job dying my stealth climbing gear, and Eoin's distraction will hold up.

The guard rounds the corner, and I race to the wall, stripping off my kitchen uniform and pulling my stealth gear from my bag. I yank on my tight, stretchy pants, my gloves, and my hooded tunic and cowl, making sure the decoy relic remains tucked in my bag. I throw the bag onto my back and begin my ascent.

I focus on my climb and trust my camouflage and placement on the wall will be enough to keep me hidden. I keep climbing, tucking myself into the shadow where the Southeast tower meets the wall, reaching for somewhat familiar handholds. In what feels like record time, I reach the top and hoist myself up over the crenelations one last time.

Some urgent shouting in the distance catches my attention, but I hold my position and wait. The shouting intensifies, and several guards and stablemen run across the open courtyard toward the west wall. I peer out between merlons at the fully engulfed Southwest tower. Blinding flames flick up the entire tower and the stable behind it. Eoin has placed a few strategic, authentic fires around to generate smoke and heatwaves for the massive mage illusion he's created.

Guards and servants rush around, transporting buckets of water, to no avail. The fire will appear to burn until Eoin extinguishes the original flame.

Stablemen track down loose, agitated horses. Among the helpers is Eoin. He really is quite impressive.

I rush down the battlement and drop my bag, making sure everything is still safely inside. I pull out the rope, tie it to the merlon, and take several quick breaths before leaning back over the wall and descending to my intended window.

Of course, this time, the window shutters are closed, leaving me exposed longer than I have to be. I dip the toe of my boot down, catch the edge of the shutter, and swing it out. I pause and listen for any signs of movement, but it's difficult to hear much past the chaos of Eoin's distraction.

I push out with my legs and swing into the suite, landing in a roll. I grab my dagger and scan the room. The bed to the left is neatly made, and to my right, an intricately carved screen wall separates the bedroom from the sitting area where a hearth sits ablaze. I'm alone.

Flapping and rustling alert me to the raven landing in the window. "Go away," I whisper. I find my way around the screen wall and approach the portrait of Lucanis and his mother. I lift the frame and gently sit it on the ground, revealing the safe behind it. I begin pulling out my equipment when a small squeak freezes me in place.

I turn around slowly. Through the screen, a small, fair young woman with long black hair holds perfectly still, hand over her mouth. Her green eyes are wide with fright. This must be the bride, Mazarine. My heart tumbles into free fall. We've picked the wrong room.

"Don't move," I say to her, pointing my dagger and striding laterally around the screen to face her. She shakes her head. I toss one of my daggers, expertly extinguishing one of the candles near her bed, and promptly point the other one at her. "I said don't move."

She nods at me.

I approach her like I would a wild animal, keeping my movements slow. Just as I'm about to reach her, she turns and runs. I chase after her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back. She lets out a small scream, and I pull her back to me, placing the blade of my knife to her neck. "I said don't move! Are you daft?" I hiss in her ear.

Think, Bronwyn. Someone might have heard that scream. "We need to move," I say, more to myself than her. I pull her with me to the bathing chamber and shut the door just as the bedroom door creaks open.

"Everything alright, my lady?" a gruff voice calls into the room. I hold her back tightly to my chest, covering her mouth with one hand and resting the blade against her neck with the other.

"I'm fine!" I call out, raising the pitch of my voice. "I saw. . .a rat."

"We have ten minutes. I'll be outside the door." The door shuts.

"I'm going to uncover your mouth. Make a sound, and I'll slit your throat. You understand?" I'm not sure if my threat is empty, but I hope she believes me.

I slowly remove the blade from her neck, and she turns to me with tears in her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" Her voice wavers.

Only a few moments until she needs to head to the wedding. I may still be able to pull off half of the bargain and maybe track down the relic after the fact.

"You can't marry Lucanis."

She laughs, and it startles me.

"Are you serious? Believe me, I've tried to get out of this. Do you think I want to be here? He's so old." He doesn't look that much older than me. She turns and leans into the vanity mirror, cleaning the smudges around her eyes. "My powers are about to come in. I should be heading off to university, not . . ." She groans.

"I tried to get Selene's high lord to ruin me a couple of nights ago, but he wouldn't."

"Let me help you."

"Perhaps if it were yesterday. There's simply no more time." Her eyes dip to my blade, and she steps toward me. "Are you going to kill me then?" Damn, this girl is bold.

An idea strikes me, and I think we may have just enough time. "For a moment. Go lay on the bed."

She looks confused but follows my directions, stripping out of her dress and lying down on her back. This will take a portion of my well, but I think it may work. I place the dress at a safe distance and climb over her.

I pull my dagger, and her eyes widen. I cover her mouth just as she screams, feeling the vibrations through my palm. I cut a long gash down the side of my arm, spilling warm blood over her neck and face. It's a significant wound, and it takes nearly half my well to heal it.

"Hold still and play dead. Give me. . .twenty minutes. If someone finds you before that, stay dead."

She nods slightly, and I strip down as quickly as I can. A light rapping at the door sends my heart to my stomach. "Just a moment!" I use the same pitch as before and yank the bride's dress on. I remove the faux relic from my bag and hold it in my palm, staring. Where am I supposed to put this? The man outside pounds on the door with increasing urgency.

I reach up my skirts, tucking it into the back of my underwear. Thank the gods for this giant bustle. I pull the veil over my head as the man pounds on the door again. "I'm coming in."

The door cracks as I reach it, and I slip into the hall, snapping it sharply behind me. Two armed Crusaders tower over me.

"This way. We're nearly late."

The Crusaders turn down the hall, and I follow, scanning each hall, door, and window as we pass. Would it be better to run now? Leave without the relic? Gods, I hope I'm making the right choice. A maid will find Mazarine shortly and will, hopefully, pull extra guards away from the Prophet to the south wing of the castle. Any moment now. . .

The walk to the throne room feels far too fast, and we are indeed cutting it close to the hour, for the hall remains clear and quiet the entire way. Even the piano sits empty and unused. My eyes catch on the slight variation in the paneling behind it, and my mind races.

The Crusader walks me to the entrance to the throne room, where the long vibrato of a cello fills the air. On the far side, before the High Lord on his throne, stands the Prophet, arms outstretched with a look of deep concentration. Between his outstretched hands floats a golden sphere, its warm amber glow illuminating the Prophet's white hair and extenuating the deep lines in his forehead.

A cold sweat comes over me, and my stomach churns. They should have noticed her by now.

I may still pull this off, but the stakes have never been higher. I look into the throne room, full of guests and spot August and Razenna. Moira and Nondis pour bubbly wine into a display of fluted glasses near the west windows. Luc stands near the Prophet with rigid posture and a blank expression.

I steel my nerves and step into the throne room. Stringed instruments play, and white and dusty pink flowers cover every discernible surface. People wave to me as if they know who I am, and a flock of doves are released as I reach the center of the room.

I'm only a few meters from the Prophet and the relic when Mazarine's family starts to shift around, looking at one another. "It's not her," one of them whispers.

I walk faster, and the musicians quicken their tune with my stride. I'm almost there.

A man in the front row stands up and points at me. "That is not my daughter!"

I run.

"Where is my daughter?"

The orb before me glows brightly, and just as I reach out to grab it, so does Luc. Our hands grip the orb at once, and golden light swirls around us. His eyes widen, and a strange pulling sensation in my core leaves me disoriented.

I turn to the Prophet. Through the blinding golden haze, his eyes flash black like coal as his mouth twists into a sneer.

Crusaders rush in the door behind me. "The bride is dead! Stop her!"

"You had her killed!" Mazarine's father shouts at Luc's father. Guards and Crusaders rush the throne to protect the High Lord and the Prophet as the room erupts in chaos.

I yank the orb from Luc's grasp, and the light ceases. Chairs are tossed, and punches are thrown as I stumble and weave through unpredictable bodies. Something grabs the train of my dress, halting my progress.

A Crusader yanks me closer to him, spit flying from his mouth as he roars at me. A dagger strikes him in the temple, and he drops like a sack of rocks. Razenna's red eyes meet mine, and I run, not wasting this opportunity.

I slide into the hall and head straight for the piano. Guests fly through the hall past me like a noisy river, and I go unnoticed as I slip behind the piano. I pull the decoy relic from my underwear and toss it toward the throne room before snapping the hidden door behind me.

I grip the authentic relic with white knuckles and find my way through the passage to the cigar room. I set it down on a table and pace. What am I going to do now? I slow my breathing and peer out the window at a few retreating carriages. I lean out a bit, checking for Crusaders. Maybe I could make a run for it from here.

"Bron!" Eoin rushes out of the nearby kitchen and starts to climb in.

"Wait. Go back to the kitchen and get me an outfit—quick."

I strip down and hide the dress in the liquor cabinet. Eoin clears his throat by the window, his eyes avoiding me. "Here." He blindly tosses in some clothes, and I gather them from the floor.

"Take this." I place the relic in his hand. He looks both ways over his shoulders and takes it, tucking it into his coat.

I dress myself in plain servant clothes and start to climb out. Eoin shakes his head sharply before leaning his back casually against the window. He turns his head slightly. "The Prophet is walking this way toward the stables. He might recognize you," he says softly through the corner of his mouth.

"Get everything ready to go. I'll meet you at our spot."

"I'm not leaving you." Eoin raises his voice.

"You have to." I lay my hand on his forearm. "I'll slip out with the rest of the fleeing servants and blend in."

He keeps his eyes on the surrounding courtyard and nods once. He slips away, and I run to the portrait on the wall just as it opens.

Luc startles when he enters the room. "Hello, Legs." He takes his dress jacket off and throws it over the back of a chair before sitting down. "Hiding from Chef again?"

"Something like that." I glance at the hidden door as the sounds of an angry mob grow louder. I study his face, looking for any tell. Did he recognize me through the veil? Does he know it was me?

"You don't seem upset," I say, joining him at the table.

"Upset? I didn't want to marry Mazarine. I'm fond of another. Besides, she's not even old enough to tell what her powers may be. I don't want to be bound to a near child. The Prophet was trying to join our courts in some power move, and my father obliged. I imagine the Prophet is fairly upset at the moment, though."

"He looked scary." I fold my hands on the ornately carved pedestal table between us.

"I suspect he will try to kill whoever is behind this." Luc's words are like fuel to the anxiety growing in my belly. His eyes flick to the smudge of blood I missed near my wrist. I drop my dirty hand below the table, leaving the other on top as casually as I can.

He appears lost in thought as he stares out the window, slowly swirling his finger on the table in tight circles.

He stops swirling, and his gaze snaps to me. He places his hand on top of mine, and a thick, heavy fog floods my mind.

"Are you behind the murder of Mazerine?"

"No, I would never. She's not even dead."

He tilts his head. "So you did have something to do with this. What about the relic? Did you attempt to steal it?"

"Yes." It's almost like my inner darkness has taken over, but she hasn't. This is something else. I cannot hold the words in, nor can I lie.

"So it was you who touched the relic with me?"

"Yes." His face hardens, and he releases my hand; the fog lifts from my mind.

"I apologize for that," he says and heads to the liquor cabinet, where he pours us two drinks. The white hem of a dress protrudes slightly around the edge of the door. "You understand my need for certainty, given you just crashed my wedding." His expression remains vague as he offers me one of the drinks. I politely decline.

He shrugs and tips the drink back into his mouth.

"This isn't quite the proposition I had in mind for you." He sits and sips on his second drink.

"What do you mean?" I peer over my shoulder at the door. Shouting draws nearer, and something loud thuds against the wall. I need to get out of here and find Eoin.

Luc appears unbothered and takes another sip. "We may not be married, but we are certainly bound now. The relic performed its function when we both touched it."

"Which is?" Whatever thoughts of escape quickly vanish with his shackling declaration.

"We are bound ." He says it slower this time, like I'm a child. "When we are close enough, I can use your magic and you can use mine. . .if you can figure out how." He raises a brow and tips his drink in the air toward me. "That is until one of us dies anyway." His casual mention of my impending death sends a chill through me. "It's like a faux mating bond, but without all the pesky mind communication aspects."

"Why aren't you freaked out by this?" My voice betrays the fact that I am absolutely freaking out.

"Like I said, I have a good feeling the Prophet is going to deal with you. I imagine we won't be in this position for long." More vague remarks about my demise.

"I can keep him off your trail, though, for a cost." He stretches his legs out and crosses one ankle over the other, the picture of comfortable confidence, like a lean cat stretching out before the hearth.

"My original proposition. . . When my father dies, I will be in need of a human emissary. I don't get along with his current one, and I think you would be perfect. You've lived there, and you have ties to both realms."

"I have prior obligations," I say. The distinct sound of clanging swords draws nearer. "Aren't you going to do something? Someone should tell them Mazarine isn't dead."

"You really are something else, Legs." A genuine smile crosses his lips. "That's what we pay the soldiers for. They'll have it handled soon. Look, there goes the Prophet's carriage." He gestures out the window. "It shouldn't be much longer."

"My name is Bronwyn," I say, getting irritated about the legs comments.

He stands, taking his jacket from the chair. "Deal with your obligations. When the day comes, and my father passes, return to the castle and be my emissary." He pulls the hems of his sleeves through the end of his jacket so they stand out with perfect symmetry. "In the meantime, I'll keep the Prophet off your trail the best I can." He pulls gloves from his jacket pocket and puts them on before extending his hand.

The mayhem out the window has slowed, and with the Prophet and most of his Crusaders gone, I could perhaps make it out the window and run before anyone caught me.

He flexes his hand. "Like it or not, you've tied yourself to the future High Lord of Helios. I don't know if anyone has told you this or not, but with powerful males, you're either with them or against them. And together, I think you and I could accomplish great things."

I wish Eoin were here. But actually. . . perhaps it's good that he's not. He would immediately shut this down. Maybe I'd like the opportunity to pursue other paths when we are done thieving. I suppose there could be worse places to end up, and I'm sure I could find a way out of it if I change my mind.

I shake his hand, and the darkness inside me stirs.

The hall remains quiet for several minutes before we exit through the paneling. Servants shuffle past one another, cleaning up debris from broken pots, vases, and even a trail of blood.

Luc gestures to the courtyard. "Might as well enjoy some of the food before they clean it up. Ah, there's Sven." His face darkens, and he takes off toward a light blond male with broad shoulders and glasses.

The sun is low in the sky, casting the garden in an amber glow. Servants collect chairs and fold up table linens, occasionally stopping to grab a treat from the hors d'oeuvres table.

There's scuffling and shouting at the front of the castle, where soldiers drag Mazarine's father toward a carriage. He's missing his dress jacket, and his shirt and hair remain a disheveled mess. He shouts and curses at Luc's father as they shove him back into his carriage.

Mazarine meets my gaze and lifts her hand in a small wave by her hip. She smiles nearly imperceptibly as she climbs into the carriage behind her father.

I stride toward our rendezvous spot, but something draws my eye. Luc walks off with Sven toward the castle wall and stops just outside the gatehouse. Their conversation appears serious, with sharp gestures and nervous glances.

My muscles tense as movement near the gate freezes me in place. Could it be the shadowless woman again?

Luc approaches the spot and talks to someone, or something, out of view. I take several steps laterally towards an hors d'oeuvres table, trying to gain a better viewpoint. Luc reaches out and pulls a strand of long black hair into view, twirling it around his finger with intimate familiarity.

"This is not what we had in mind," August says, startling me.

He brushes lightly against my arm as he grabs a crab cake, handing me one.

"Excuse me?" I ask, my irritation with him quickly making me forget the mystery at the gate.

"To stop the wedding. This is not what we had in mind, nor what you planned. You're bound to him now." The phrase punches me in the gut, reminding me of my current predicament.

"That's none of your concern." I step back out of his looming shadow. "You have your relic. We're done. Pay us for our services and be on your way."

"There are three more relics, and we already have a lead on the next one. We could continue at the same pay rate if you're still interested." August steps forward, closing the space I made between us, and glances over my shoulder toward the gatehouse.

"Don't trust him." He drops his tone to a whisper. "You're in more danger now than you were before. Don't tell him what you are."

"Are you serious right now?" I square my shoulders. "You're the only one here who has hurt me. I broke my ribs and shattered my legs. You literally tried to kill me. I think you're the last person I should take advice from about who to trust."

I release my clenched fist, freeing the crushed crab cake. I drop it and brush my hands off on my dress. "You're so confusing. You and Luc dislike one another, and yet you two were thick as thieves last night. You try to kill me, then offer me an ale and your jacket." I sigh. "I don't know whether to trust you or fear you, but right now, I'm leaning toward the latter."

"Good," he says firmly. "Then you're more intelligent than you look."

"And now you insult me." My blood boils, heating my neck and ears. "You're lucky Eoin isn't here; he wouldn't stand for this treatment."

August lets out a sharp puff of air through his nose. "He's already agreed to join me in search of the other relics."

"Uh—" My words leave me, and I gape at him.

He grabs my elbow and pulls me toward the stable.

I try to yank it from him. "What are you doing?"

He looks around us, letting out a low growl. "We need to leave now if we're going to make it in time."

He pulls me at a tall man's pace, and I have to skip a few times to keep up. I try to pull from his grasp again, and he grumbles. "Don't cause a scene."

He drags me into the nearly empty stable where Eoin and Razenna await. A muscle in Eoin's jaw ticks as his eyes land on my elbow, held tightly in August's grip.