Nick had just enough reach to grasp Kit’s tail. He squeezed it, a distressed and panicked feeling rising. He knew what a private audience with Desre meant for Kit. Nick’s elbow began to burn. Kit’s tail twitched to life, awareness filling his eyes a mere second before Desre turned from him.
She missed it.
Missed her influence burning up.
Kit didn’t turn to Nick, but the end of his tail fluttered. Desre gestured to her handmaiden, and food was served. Nick’s plate remained empty, but the others all ate methodically through a starter, a main and a dessert. None of them seemed to enjoy a single bite, not even Desre. And no one spoke, either. Desre’s attention moved between the three of them, her mean black eyes discontent.
Nick’s jaw ached fiercely by the end of the dinner. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment as he struggled to swallow all the saliva that pooled in his mouth and some leaked out.
The only victory at the dinner was that when Desre touched Kit’s skin—which she did often, and with purpose—Kit didn’t succumb to her influence. Nick felt his own mark burning,and he had the presence of mind to look down and pinpoint exactly what symbol was activating.
“Are you hungry?” Desre asked.
Nick stared at her.
She rose, and Evie brought her a plate. Kit quickly withdrew his tail before she saw it in Nick’s lap, severing their connection and the protection from her power. Nick’s panicked feeling intensified. He doubted he’d be given free rein to wander now that Desre was no longer bound to her chambers. Kit was going to go to her room tonight. Nick couldn’t stop Kit from obeying; he knew he couldn’t.
Desre put her hand atop his. Nick’s arm burned like he’d thrust the thing into a fire, and his skin was blistering, dying.
Nick hid it. He bottled the pain and pushed it aside. He’d been a live wire of tension for the entire dinner, but he forced himself to relax. He let the muscles in his face slacken. Let his shoulders drop. He even made himself blink slowly and didn’t open his eyes all the way again. He forced his breathing to settle, even as his heart roared. If she’d looked at his pulse, she’d have seen the deception.
Desre’s laughter was a keel of victory. “Darling, perhaps we shall save our meeting for tomorrow instead. I have been lax in greeting our new witch.”
“My Lady, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kit objected, an edge in his voice. One that hadn’t been directed at Desre before now.
Desre trailed her fingers down the side of Nick’s face. The burning intensified.
“Take the gag out,” she ordered. Her gaze moved assessingly over Nick. “You are well-muscled for a student. Tidy, too. Your face and hair are plain, and your eyes are…” She grimaced. “Where is that blindfold?”
There was no answer but the river rushing by, and the gentle swish of oars dipping into water. “Remove the gag, Kit,” she said.
Something in Kit calcified. Nick felt it in the air. Felt it as Kit’s tail wound protectively around Nick’s leg.
“Your manipulations could affect his ability to do what is needed.” It was a desperate argument.
Desre’s gaze wrenched up. “Manipulations?” she repeated, furious. Captain Hin sipped his wine, looking pointedly away from them. The sip didn’t hide his grimace, nor the apprehension of his now tense body.
Kit’s head ducked. He said nothing.
She leaned across Nick and glared at Kit, nails digging into Nick’s forearms hard enough to draw blood. “Remove. The. Gag.” Her voice was a warning. Either Kit did as asked now, or he was in trouble.
Even in turmoil, Kit’s breaths weren’t loud. They were quiet. Steady. But Nick heard the panic. Heard the resoundingnoin Kit’s silence. She could have asked anything. She could have told Kit to beat him, burn him, throw him overboard, and Nick knew Kit would do as he was bidden. But he wasn’t going to capitulate to rape.
Kit’s lips parted. Nick saw his mouth shape ‘no’.
Nick didn’t let him say it.
He slammed forwards. Cartilage crunched against his skull. Desre fell, screeching. The impact jolted Nick’s neck, and relief filled him as the symbol on his arm stopped burning. Laid out on the decking, Desre’s hands were cupped protectively to her face. Blood streamed out through her fingertips, smelling not of iron, but rot.
Evie leapt to her aid.
Kit tried to haul Nick from the chair, only to come up short as the chains bit into his skin.
“Kill him! Kill him!” Desre shrieked.
“I’ll lock him up below,” Kit said.
“Cut his throat,” she snarled.
