Shifting the leather reins into his hand, she started to walk toward the cottage when he quietly said, “Wait.”
She turned around, and her eyes snagged on a gilded dagger in Merrick’s hand.
“You planning on killing me right here?” she purred, her magic vibrating inside her, ready if he made a single move.
Sighing, he flipped it so the sharp blade rested between his thumb and finger, offering her the hilt.
“Why are you giving me this?” Lessia slowly reached out and wrapped her gloved hand around the embellished hilt, the rubies lining it still glinting in the dim light.
It was a Fae dagger, and she swallowed as she remembered another one similar to this but decorated with glittering amber.
To mirror your eyes,her father said when he offered it to her on her twelfth birthday. She forced his own amber eyes out of her mind, burying the memory deep inside her, locking it up in that box she refused to open.
Merrick’s jaw ticked as if he could read her even without seeing her, and she schooled her features back to neutral as he responded.
“You’re staying with three men, and none of them will have your back. I was asked to keep you alive as long as possible, but I won’t be there to save you if they decide to eliminate you on their own. You can’t blow that horn, so you need to ensure you don’t have to.”
Releasing a breath, she realized he was right.
King Rioner had forbidden her to leave the election until he told her so, so even if she was injured, she couldn’t leave.
Not unless she wanted the blood oath to kill her instead.
Gripping the hilt tighter, she admitted, “I don’t know how to use this.”
She’d never been trained in fighting—had never had to resort to violence, since she could just use her gift to have people leave her be.
But she had to be careful here.
None of the men knew of her abilities, and if she was found to have used them on humans, they’d execute her immediately for breaking the treaty between Fae and humans.
The muscle in Merrick’s jaw twitched again. “You lived on the streets of Vastala for years, and you don’t know how to fight? I know you can use that sweet little tongue of yours, but what if someone sneaks up on you?”
She couldn’t stop the shudder that rippled through her body.
That’s exactly how she’d landed herself in the king’s dungeons.
She’d noticed the guard that followed her, and when he came after her, his intent clear in his eyes, she’d sweetly suggested he fall on his own sword.
But she hadn’t noticed the guard behind her until it was too late.
Zaddock called out it was time to leave, and Merrick shook his head. “Use the sharp end on your enemy. Good luck, Lessia.”
Chest thumping, she slipped the dagger inside her cloak and started walking through the deep snow toward the house.
Chapter
Twenty
Amusty stench, thick with neglect, washed over her as she stepped over the threshold into the cottage.
Blinking, Lessia adjusted to the darkness, finding a sitting room with a fraying couch and, behind it, a wooden table with a few wobbly chairs. She blew out a breath at the large fireplace in the room—with all windows boarded, it would be the only option for light.
But her stomach knitted when the box that should be filled with firewood gaped empty beside it, and she didn’t find kindling anywhere.
When her hands began shaking, Lessia told herself it would be all right.
She’d made fire with wood and rocks before.
