Chapter 31

The streets are bathed in gray, the air still thick with smoke from the burning that wafts through the alleys, blotting the rays of the rising sun.

Robed worshipers shift through the streets in silent flocks. Even the Gray Guards are still out in tromping droves, dressed in their signature chain mail and iron breastplates stamped with an upside-down v, longbows in hand, quivers sheathed down their spines.

I duck into a side alley to dodge another barreling charge, two of the guards speaking of a fire at the temple yesterday morning. About their stores being lost in the blaze.

I can only guess what that means.

A smirk stretches across my face …

Karma, you fierce thing.

Their footfalls fade, and I push on, my hood pulled far enough forward to hide my face from anyone who might be peeking through windows to see what all the commotion is about. Not everyone would be able to recognize me without my sword strapped to my back or my sigil pinned to my cloak, but I can’t be too careful.

The Inn’s sign creaks in the breeze, stirring up wisps of smoke that had settled over the cobbles as I pull the heavy door open. The bell tolls my early-morning welcome, and I ease my hood back onto my shoulders, surprised to find Graves already up, looking at me from behind the bar.

Quill poised over a piece of parchment, he raises a brow.

I give him a firm nod.

All set. Now, it’s just a waiting game.

Graves gives me a tired smile, then waves me on before disappearing through the back door, fanning the scent of freshly baked bread into the room. I weave between tables topped with upturned chairs and make for the stairs, climbing to the second floor.

Standing before my room, I’m just about to dig my key into the lock when I realize the door is already cracked open. The rich, woodsy scent of nightshade catches me off guard, slamming into the back of my throat, almost knocking me off my feet.

Baze.

I swallow the cloying lump in my throat, battling the tremble of my upper lip threatening to curl back.

He should know better …

Shoving the door open, I step into the dim room and close it behind me.

Hand pressed against the wall, Baze is standing before the window, looking out upon the waking world.

I still, frowning at the fine stubble on his head. My gaze carves the expanse of his broad shoulders, and my heart drops at the peeled and blistered skin spread across the taut blades.

“Baze …” I rush forward, fingers poised above a patch of bubbled wounds.

Burns.

Clearing my throat, I move to the bathroom, dampen a washcloth, and race back, about to drape it across his sores—

He turns so fast he’s a blur of motion, catching my wrist in his fist. “Don’t,” he says, the word a quiet wound, his eyes shaded with a daunting shadow that makes my skin prickle.

I breathe in his scent, woodsy and floral spiced, and the heady musk of … sex.

He’s been fucking somebody.

My upper lip threatens to peel back before I catch notes of something else mingling with the potent smell …

The acrid tang of smoke. Of fried flesh—not his.

Either he was at the burning, or—

Remembering the Gray Guards charging through the streets, my stomach pitches.

Not charging.

Hunting.

“The temple,” I whisper, sliding back a step, raking my gaze across him like I’m seeing him for the first time.

He drops my wrist, keeping his lips tight, watching me retreat another step.

Another.

“You’re the reason the guards have been out in droves,” I snarl, feeling all the blood drop from my face, replaced with a punch of rage. “I told you to keep away!”

His chest shakes with a silent laugh, a twisted smile breaking across his face as he runs his hand over his bald head. “What’s the point?”

“Don’t say that,” I growl through a snap of teeth.

His face smooths in the blink of an eye, and he leans against the windowsill, stretching his legs before him and crossing them at the ankles. “I need to ask you something.”

The words are clipped, and even though his eyes are shaded by the lack of light in this room, I can feel the accusing slice of his stare.

Some of his anger … it’s directed at me.

“Well, ask me.”

His gaze drops to the floor at my feet, and he seems to hold his breath, like he’s reconsidering.

My patience frays. “Don’t fucking cower from the question, Baze. Ask!”

He sighs, condemning me with an unblinking stare. “I saw her today. At the burning. She was trying to hide a bitemark on her neck.”

My lungs turn to sandstone, hand flying to my mouth.

Cainon fed on her …

Something darkens in Baze’s eyes, making me recoil as I realize—

“You thought I knew.”

His silence is answer enough.

I storm toward the bed and crouch, reaching beneath it to retrieve a small wooden box, tipping the lid as I stand. “There is nothing in here that suggests she’s been in danger,” I say, showing him the note some kid left at the bar for me after the burning, as well as the one Cindra received from Kolden and Orlaith. Shoving the box against his chest, I look up into his eyes. “Nothing.”

“But she is,” he growls, pummeling me with his breath—untainted by spirits. In fact, he looks utterly sober, eyes clearer than I’ve seen them in years, which only makes his actions and the erratic energy rippling off him more chilling. “She’s in danger. And there’s something in her eyes that tells me she doesn’t even give a fuck.”

Shit.

This is not a conversation that’s mine to have. It’s hers. Unfortunately, I’m incapable of lying to him.

I just can’t bring myself to do it.

“I know,” I admit, drawing a slow breath as I drop my gaze to his chest. “I’ve also seen that look in her eyes.”

Tension cuts the air.

There’s a palpable pause before he threads his finger beneath my chin and tilts my head, forcing me to regain his eye contact. “I’m going to need you to be a bit more specific.”

The softest push of his finger, and something inside me melts.

“I … found her in his bed, overdosed on caspun. I don’t think it was her intention, but—” I swallow, watching the color drain from his face. “I could tell she wanted to follow him … if you know what I mean.”

His eyes glaze, stare drifting behind me for a long beat. Then he shoves past, storming for the door.

I whirl.

“Where are you going?”

“To fucking get her,” he barks, and my pulse pitches.

I sprint forward.

He opens the door, but I punch it closed. He turns, staring ahead, becoming still.

Thoughts churning, I press the box against his chest again, nudging it gently. Urging him to look.

To read.

“There’s a plan, Baze. We’re so close to securing what we need to break into Vadon’s territory and stem these Vruk attacks at the source, but everything hinges on the first part of the ceremony taking place. It’s the only way we can get the ships without inciting war.”

“You’re telling me to put the ships above her,” he states, voice flat.

Dangerous.

“It’s what she would want.”

He whirls so fast I’m suddenly pressed to the door, his hands slamming either side of my head, an untethered look in his eyes. “Because she has survivor’s guilt!”

My upper lip peels back, my energy swelling against his until we’re an angry clash of tension. “We’re in too deep. If we pull the plug now, we lose everything.”

I let my eyes say what my words do not. That I’ll lose this one chance to get what I need to protect my people.

The only family I have.

“Tell me,” he snarls, dropping his head lower so we’re eye to eye, dousing each other in violent exhales. “Would Rhordyn sit idly in the background if he were here? If he’d seen what I saw in that city square today?”

I grit my teeth so hard they ache.

He’s right, of course. But I have a duty. If I led with my heart, I would never have survived The Vein.

The dunes.

I would not have become High Mistress.

Out there, everything’s a weapon if you’re desperate enough. I wonder if Orlaith is beginning to realize that, too. I can’t wrap my head around a reality where she’d let Cainon bite her unless she had a very good reason.

But I can’t dwell on that right now.

“I have to make the right decision for my people,” I say, my voice a knuckle-bearing blow.

Baze clicks his tongue, then pushes off the door and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as he dips his head to the side.

The look he gives me is a shiv through the ribs.

“Perhaps that’s what you’ve been doing all along. Perhaps that’s the real reason you didn’t tell me she was listening outside the office that day when Cainon proposed their coupling.”

The words land like a blow to the jaw, and I suddenly wish he was drunk.

“You don’t mean that …”

He sniffs, turns, and picks his sword up off the end of my bed. “I’ll do as you’ve ordered,” he says, voice spiked with enough venom to stop a heart. “But if anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive you. Or myself.”

He shoves the box against my chest, pulls the door open, then leaves me choking on the smell of smoke, sex, and rage.