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Having gone there so often,Tes didn’t need light to find the tiny room holding their stash of disguises, but it took longer than usual to get there on her shaky legs. She was deliciously sore in all the best places, and her inner thighs ached from unaccustomed use. She hadn’t expected that effect, considering the daily combat training she’d done over the past month.

Then again, that training had been for adifferentkind of bladework.

A smile curved her lips as she ducked through the small door. She slipped between the two lines of hanging clothes, one on each wall, and dropped into the lone seat currently half-covered by a cloak. Not much had changed here. Women’s clothes on one wall, men’s clothes on the other. A couple of shelves crammed in the corners for any accessories. Unlike her dressing room, this space looked cluttered and unkempt. But it served its purpose.

A sense of safety eased away the last of her tension, and exhaustion swamped her in its place. She’d spent centuries shielding this room, an investment well worth the effort. Secure,quiet, and only slightly chilly from the draft that slipped between two of the old stones in the corner. Slumping against the back of the seat, she tugged the discarded cloak over her waist and closed her eyes.

How could I have changed my position so totally?

It was a question she needed to ponder, not with recrimination but with curiosity. Her time with Ber had felt pure and perfect, and she didn’t regret it. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder how much of her belief in him had been lingering beneath the surface, unacknowledged. Actively denied, in fact. Because if it had been banished the way she’d believed, she never would have claimed him for her own.

She bunched the cloak against her face and breathed in. The peppery scent of the herbs Ber preferred in his soap underlaid the smell of dirt, ale, and spiced meat. He must have worn this into one of the taverns where he often went to spy. And recently. Her chest ached with the longing to have him with her so she could ask him why.

They’d made their own connections in the city, like her friendship with Cairi, but for the most part, she and Ber had worked together. Once, before they’d fallen in love—or recognized their emotions, perhaps—they had pretended to be a married couple in search of new furnishings. There’d been rumors that one of the craftsmen had questionable dealings with a band of criminals from Vorwen, and it had seemed like a good way to investigate.

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been an effective method. Itwouldn’thave been if Ber hadn’t tossed her on the bed with too much verve in the guise of testing the frame’s sturdiness. As he’d tumbled atop her, the headboard had shoved against the wall, sliding said wall askew. He’d been too fixated on the secrets he’d uncovered in the newly revealed space to notice how she’dsquirmed beneath him, her heart pounding with unexpected desire—but one she’d realized had always been lurking.

There’d been more than one revelation that day.

Tes smiled against the fabric before pulling the cloak more thoroughly around her body, so tight she could almost believe he was here embracing her. Yes, they’d always been an unusual team—but a team all the same. She needed to help him see that truth so he didn’t shut her out of his plans again. If they could just stay together, she had no doubt that they could defeat her father.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would plan.

Chapter 23

Dreams of Gray

After a restless night, it was no effort for Ber to arise early, but he wasn’t exactly eager for his pre-dawn task. But it couldn’t wait. He needed to question the artisan locked in the dungeon before the morning meal and subsequent court. The king might revoke his tentative permission to do so at any time, so the sooner the better.

“Better” being relative.

Ber strode between the guards and into the dungeons as though it was his home, slowing only long enough to inquire about the artisan’s location. She was at the far end of the top floor, of course, but not because of her status or offense. The dungeon in Llyalia might have had respectable holding rooms for less serious crimes, but King Ryenil had long ago converted those types of cells into private torture chambers for the seemingly treasonous.

As usual, Ber kept his expression on the hard side of neutral as he swept into the room, dismissing the guards with a mere glance. The door closed, and for a moment, only the woman’s terrified breaths filled the air. Did she even realize that she whimpered slightly with each exhale? He could hardly blame her, but he didn’t dare to show kindness, either.

He approached the stone table where she waited, naked and restrained. Her wrists and ankles were held down by thick, metal manacles, but she was able to turn her head to look at him. Frowning, his gaze swept from her bruised face down along her body, covered in still more bruises and cuts. This was not how he’d ordered her held.

“Who dared interrogate you before I did?” Ber asked gruffly.

A tremor traced down her body. “No one,” she gasped.

He clenched his fists. “You’ve been beaten.”

“The guards.” The soft shaking in her voice brought an ache to his heart despite the trouble her poison had caused him. “When they put me here.”

“Did they…?” he began, his gaze going unwittingly to the vee of her legs.

“No. For…for you, they said.” She turned her head, staring at the ceiling as another tremor visibly shook her body. “If you have any kindness in you, please take care. I might be with child.”

Shock nearly parted his lips, but he managed to keep his expression contained. “Yet you took the risk of poisoning the crown prince? That’s a death sentence.”

A tear trailed down her cheek and into her hair. “It wasn’t for you. It was for the next nobleman who decided to pin a helpless minstrel to one of the beautiful trees I designed and profane it by abusing her against it.”

“This was revenge for Kestreh?” he asked.

The artisan jerked her eyes to his. “No, another minstrel. My cousin. But how did you know Kestreh’s name?”

Cold anger stiffened his muscles. Another. He’d missed another one. And probably more beyond that. The count of this court’s crimes was beyond his reckoning, no matter how much he tried to prevent it all.