Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Tempest

Tempest's lips curled. The devil finally showed himself.

She resisted the urge to look at him as she tried to get her temper under control.

Getting angry won't solve anything. Take a deep breath. Dima's voice echoed through her mind.

Tempest inhaled slowly and swallowed down her annoyance. She swiveled to face the doorway as the Jester made his entrance, arms wide and laughing, like they were the best of friends. Briggs tapped her on the shoulder twice before moving toward the door where Nyx waited.

They were leaving her alone with the knave. Dotae save her.

Pyre grinned, a vulpine fang making an appearance. She wrinkled her nose as he stopped, just a little too close for comfort.

"Do you like our lovely home, Tempest?" he asked .

"Mmhmmm," she hummed, not able to speak past her irritation that she couldn't rid herself of.

Pyre tugged at his velvet waistcoat and cocked his head, seemingly waiting for her to continue. He wasn't getting anything more. It was uncanny how different he looked to when they'd first met. Gone was his pine-green cloak and plain but well-made clothes he had worn during their time in the forest. Now, he was opulently dressed—even more so than when Tempest had been taken to his bizarre cave room. He could rival any prince with the lush velvets and rich silks he adorned himself with.

This wasn't Pyre. It was the Jester.

She glanced away and swallowed. She hated the outfit, but, more so, she hated how good he looked.

He held his arms out once again and walked toward her, as if he meant to hug her. Like hell. Her rage combusted, and she found herself dropping the blanket and meeting him head on, not with a hug but with her fist. She punched him squarely in the face. Her knuckles screamed, and she shook out her hand as Pyre immediately grabbed his nose and tilted his head backward, a growl beginning in the back of his throat as blood dripped between his fingers.

"That's for keeping me in the dark and not upholding your word!" Tempest shouted, still shaking her throbbing hand. Her anger had made her punch sloppy. She was lucky she hadn't broken any bones. Satisfaction slid through her. Messy, it may have been, but successful, she was.

The fox shot her a narrow-eyed glare. "You may have broken my nose."

She snorted. "I'm sure I'm not the first female to ever punch you in the face. Plus, you deserve it, and you know it. "

"Just what are you talking about?" he asked, annoyance in his tone. "I think you ruined one of my favorite shirts. This is the second time, you know. You're making this a habit."

"You were supposed to meet me in the forest!" she replied, shocked by Pyre's sheer audacity to act as if he had no idea what she meant. "But then you never showed and forced me off onto your cranky wolf subordinate."

"Brine is lovely," he retorted. "One of my best."

Tempest ignored his comment, knowing full-well the Jester discerned how much Brine disliked her. Just another game. "And then I was almost sold off on a ship to some old deviant who, I believe, deals in slaves and drugs. Not only that, but he thought it wise to steal from the Jester. Who does that?"

"No one was really going to sell—"

"I'm not done," Tempest continued, cutting Pyre off. She knew if she gave him even an inch of leeway, he would take over the conversation and she would not get the answers she needed. "What's the deal with Chesh?" she demanded. "The bloody Hinterlands are the stuff of nightmares. They're our enemies, and yet you have one of their royals in your pocket? Just what in the blazes are you up to?!"

The Jester took a moment to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face with it. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs as he touched the bridge of his nose gingerly. Stars, she hoped it was broken. He deserved to have at least one blemish. The kitsune was too good-looking.

She stiffened.

You do not think he's handsome.

It wasn't the first time she'd lied to herself.

"It's not broken." He sighed. "How did you know about Chesh? "

"Though you believe me ignorant, I'm not. I've had one of the best educations Heimserya can offer. I speak four languages fluently and have extensively studied the neighboring kingdoms and our enemies. Why would you think I would not understand the tattoos on Chesh's body were indicative of the highborn lines of his culture? Hinterland markings are distinctive. They document major life events on their skin. The symbols on his neck and arms were a dead giveaway." She held a finger up. "And I don't understand why he was flaunting them on the ship. Does the crazy cat have a death wish?"

"Speaking of said cat… You two were very close."

She blinked. "What does that mean?"

"Even with a bloody nose I can smell his scent all over you." Pyre gave her a mocking smile and then wiped the rest of the blood off his face. "Did you take some time out of your busy schedule to play with Chesh?"

"Excuse me?" Tempest gaped at him and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling self-conscious at his insinuation. "There was no time for any sort of playing … Plus, I'm not that sort of girl, anyhow." She scoffed. "As if I'd risk my reputation and future by carelessly taking up with him."

"Because he's an unworthy shifter?"

"No, because I refuse to give something I consider precious to someone I barely know. I may have been raised with men, but they taught me to know my worth, and I know I'm worth more than some tumble in a stinking alley." Several moments of silence passed between them. She hadn't meant to give him that much information.

"Are you done?" he asked, picking at his nails.

His question only riled her up again. She wasn't near done. "The journey was perilous, Pyre," she spat. "Did Brine tell you we were ambushed in the forest? A bloody dragon appeared! I didn't even know those existed anymore. And then—" she held her hands in the air "—he shifted . It was a lucky thing that I had something he wanted, or he would have slaughtered us all for whatever perceived slight he imagined between us."

Pyre stiffened. "Did you barter with him?"

His tone of voice had her stomach quivering. "I did what I had to. You should be thankful. If it weren't for me, your men would be dead."

Pyre's eyes sharpened. "What did you give him?"

"None of your business," she replied, careful to avoid touching her hair beneath her ear where a lock of it was missing. It was only hair, so why didn't she want to tell him? Tempest shook her head and turned the conversation back on the kitsune. "And what are you doing dealing with dragons, anyway?" She stabbed a finger at the door. "There was one here not even five minutes ago!"

He shrugged. "It seems as if you had a full day, Temp." The glint in his eyes changed, and he scanned her from head to toe and back again. She crossed her arms, feeling like he could see right through her nightgown. Why had she dropped her blanket? "Going by the way you're shivering, I'd say you're in need of a warm drink in front of the fire."

It truly was freezing standing barefoot on the cold stone. The cavernous room was drafty. For a moment, she considered saying no, but practicality won out over her insatiable desire to make Pyre as miserable as she was. She nodded slowly and rubbed the bare skin of her arms. The chill seemed to go as deep as her bones.

"Then, let's go to my study," he replied, a pleased smile lifting his lips. "I have some tea brewing in there, and it's plenty warmer than in here. Come, follow me."

Pyre started for the door, his boots echoing on the etched stone floor. She darted back to her filched blanket, shook it out, and then wrapped it around her shoulders. Quickly, she snatched her bag from the ground and followed him through the huge double doors. He led her down a series of winding corridors lined with columns until they reached a very ordinary-sized, wooden door. The kitsune opened the door and indicated for Tempest to enter first. She sighed at the wave of heat that welcomed her. Tempest hummed in relief as her toes sank into a plush rug. She wasted no time tossing her bag next to a cushioned armchair near the fire and then collapsing into it. It was so nice to be off her feet after days of traveling. Her brows slashed together as she inspected the room closer.

"This room looks as if it was taken straight out of your cottage in the forest," she mused, noting the paintings on the wall, the old wooden desk, and chipped kettle sitting in the fire, releasing a little steam from the spout. The place felt homey. Nothing like the cave, her lavish temporary chamber, or the cavernous meeting hall they'd just come from.

"That was the point," he replied. Pyre knelt beside the fire to remove the kettle. "Even one such as I needs his home comforts… even during a rebellion."

One such as I . She pursed her lips and stared at her lap. It was little moments like this that she forgot what he was, who he was. It would be her downfall if she wasn't careful. He was the Jester, not her Pyre.

He's not your anything.

"Temp?"

She lifted her head, and he flashed her a grin .

"What's on your mind?" he asked, pouring a cup of tea.

"Nothing that would interest you," she murmured.

"Everything you do interests me."

Her heart stuttered. He's playing you. Proceed with caution. She nodded at the teacup. "I hope that's for you. Tea won't cut it this time. You have any fire whiskey?" She didn't drink spirits that often, but whiskey was the only thing that would chase the chill from her bones. Then, she'd have some tea.

Pyre chuckled and set the kettle back on its stand before moving from the fire to a glass-fronted cabinet behind the desk. He set the teacup on the wooden desk and removed a small bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. "Anything for my Lady Hound."

"Do not call me that," Tempest warned. "You know I hate it." It reminded her of Destin, someone she wanted nothing to do with.

An emotion flashed through Pyre's eyes, but it was gone too quickly for her to discern. She wasn't the only one hiding things.

With deft hands, he poured two fingers of fire whiskey into a glass and then another with less. He picked up both glasses and moved to her side, holding the one with more spirits out to her. She took it carefully from him, her fingers brushing his. Something electric passed between them, but she ignored it. Tempest swirled her whiskey while Pyre sat in the armchair opposite her. She eyed his drink. If he was aiming to get her drunk, it wouldn't happen. She was more careful than that. Plus, she had too many secrets that could come spilling out if she wasn't cautious.

He raised his glass. "To surviving brigands, smugglers, and dragons, then. "

The smallest of smiles curled Tempest's lips despite herself. She had survived all three, and, at least for a little while, she could rest and recover, but she didn't raise her glass.

He frowned. "Not celebrating?"

She shrugged and took a small sip. "Seems wrong to tempt fate."

"Fate?" he murmured. "Doesn't exist."

"Agreed, but let's be careful, shall we? No need to be disrespectful to the powers that be."

Pyre smirked. "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Jester. I am the powers that be."