“I would keep my distance, gladly, but you were dreaming so loudly, you didn’t give me much choice.”
This man’s ability to kill my fear with aggravation is uncanny. Not for the first time, I wish for the flames between us to jump up and consume him. But Firesta still doesn’t want to offer me access to even a spark of my power.
“I’d expect you to be more grateful for my magic,” he continues, “considering it saved you from getting killed in the palace.”
He says it so casually that I don’t know what to make of it. When he’s angry, he looks like he could burn the whole world to the ground, but just as quickly he’s back to being that eye in the storm, as if not even the biggest chaos could rattle him.
“Ifthe tale you’ve spun about an assassin is true. How am I supposed to believe you?” I ask. “Why would I trust a murderer?”
His face darkens and he rises, walking slowly around the fire toward me. I wonder if he’s going to point his sword at me again, but I refuse to flinch as he draws closer.
He stops a few inches from me, dropping into a crouch. His body is large enough that it blocks all warmth from the fire. But when I shiver, it’s not because I’m cold. This close, I can feel the heat coming off him, and I am suddenly too aware of the holes in my cloak and the thin nightdress I still wear underneath.
“Don’t you think it’s strange, princess, that I was able to stroll into your rooms without encountering any guards? That the first bit of resistance I met was that idiot in the hood with his face covered and a knife in his hand?”
I’d been too distracted to give it much thought at the time, but looking back, Idoremember we didn’t pass anyone on our way out of my rooms. Not even any bodies—except for the man with the knife. When I went to bed, the corridors were full of guards in their blue palace uniform. Even if the fae had silently run them through one by one without anyone sounding the alarm, they couldn’t have had the time to hide that many of their victims. So where were the guards? Why did they leave me so unprotected?
“Clearly someone in that palace wants you dead, Morgana. They organized for the guards to be elsewhere, and then they left the way wide open for the assassin to slip in.”
I only register his use of my name after he’s finished talking. My mind is too full of the information he’s given me, trying to weigh what I should and shouldn’t believe. A deep-rooted part of me doesn’t want to trust him—not if it risks betraying my mother and father, giving their killer an inch of understanding. I realize I’m staring into his eyes, so deep in thought that I hadn’t been conscious of my features.
“Finally,” he says with a sense of satisfaction. He abruptly stands and crosses back over to his side of the fire.
I blink, bewildered by his comment, but I sense we’ll have no more discussion this evening. I expect to toss and turn, but to my surprise, I drop off quickly and sleep through the rest of the night. Our conversation seems to have scared off my nightmare for now.
In the gray light of morning, things are different. My head aches, like pins are being pushed into my temples.
I pull the vial out of my pocket, and my stomach lurches at how little is left. Did I really take that much yesterday? It was still so much less than my usual dose, but now only a tiny quantity of crimson liquid remains. I uncork the vial, pursing my lips to take the smallest of sips. The burning sensation is nothing compared to the dread in my stomach.
I can’t stretch this out for more than another day. I have to get out—away from the fae—to find help before my body starts giving out. I touch a hand to my aching head only to find my forehead feels feverish. I had that moment when my head was spinning last night too. It’s already beginning.
“Fine,” Leonidas says to Alastor loudly, making me look over to the pair who had been locked for the past few minutes in a tense, quiet conversation. “We’ll stop at the damn trading post.”
“We can risk it,” Alastor says, following Leonidas as he strides past me toward the horses. “We’re days from Elmere. I doubt the news of herexistencehas even reached this part of Trova yet, and they won’t be expecting us to come by this route anyway.”
“Alastor, you’ve won. I said we’d go. You can get your food that isn’t rabbit, and I’ll throw in some proper clothes for her while we’re at it.” He jabs a thumb toward me. “I’m sick of her shivering away at night like a pathetic beggar.”
My headache still pounds between my ears, but my spirits soar. I can’t afford to delay any longer, but there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
When we get to that trading post, I’ll make my move, even if it kills me.
Chapter10
Morgana
Idon’t recognize the name on the sign we pass. We’ve gone too long without passing any major landmarks or cities now, and I’ve lost track of where in the depths of Trova’s countryside we are. But as we follow the road that winds down into a hollow between the hills, I can see the trading post ahead of us.
It’s busy. Wagons and caravans ring the edge of the valley, backing onto stalls. There’s a makeshift canopy rigged up to shield most of it from the elements, creating a roof for people to mill about under as they push carts full of fruits and vegetables, cloth and tools. The noise of lowing and bleating livestock mingles with the chatter of people haggling for the best deal.
I’m hoping to leave here with far better than a bargain—my freedom.
“Thank Classitus—actual bread,” Alastor sighs with happiness as we stop by a baker’s stall. After two days on the road, I’m also tempted by the golden loaves stacked before us, but the pounding in my head reminds me I can’t get distracted.
“I think there’s a dressmaker’s stall over there.” I point to a table piled with a mixture of everyday dresses and formal gowns as well as other women’s accessories. “They might sell cloaks.”
“Get what you need and make some friends,” Leonidas murmurs to Alastor, passing him a purse heavy with coin. I’m not sure exactly where they got it—stolen with the horses or perhaps in the village where Alastor stopped for supplies before—but that’s not my concern.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” he orders me as he strides over to the stall of clothes. His glamour might make him look more human, but it doesn’t hide the flash of threat in his eyes.
