Page 29 of A Court of Masks and Roses (Royal Scout #1)

KALI

“ Y ou are going out alone? When you could be not going out at all?” Leaf draws her knees into her arms. “I thought you were done with this lone huntress act.”

“I’m a scout, Leaf. And I’m bloody close to something, whether or not Firehorn or Trace or anyone else believes me.

I can’t just tuck my tail between my legs.

” I pull on a foliage-painted tunic and breeches and review my gear.

Calvin’s prisoner might know nothing about the origin of his orders, but he sure as hells knows where he met up with his cadre prior to the attack.

It’s a start. “Viva Sylthia targeted Lady Lianna, which might mean I saw or know something that I don’t yet realize is important.

Following up on the prisoner’s information through woods and shadows, that’s what I’m good at—not this dress-up-doll routine.

” I force a smile to my face. “Stop worrying, this is hardly my first track.”

With a resigned sigh, Leaf slides off the bed and pulls a hand-sized pouch from her trunk. She tosses the pouch to me. It’s heavier than it looked from afar, with clever straps to attach it to my belt and thigh. “What is it?”

“It’s what I do,” says Leaf. “Your new survival kit.”

My fingers prickle as I pull open the laces. I yelp and pull back for a moment before gritting my teeth and pulling the cloth flap all the way open. Three polished crystals sparkle at me from their holsters.

Leaf points into the pouch. “These first two, you’ve used before: light and heat. Should stay in tune for up to twenty hours of use once triggered. They are tuned to your blood, so just wrap your fingers around the crystal and the proximity of your blood to the crystal will activate the magic.”

My eyes widen. Three times longer than any Leaf has managed before. “And the last one?” I brush my finger down a crystal with a complicated red weave that pulses slightly.

“That is a love stone.”

“In case I meet a soulmate I think I’ll die without?”

“Love stones—which you would know about if you paid attention—are mated pairs of crystals.” She shows me a similar crystal hanging on a thong around her neck, beside the blue healing one.

“Hold yours in your hand and close your eyes.” I obey, feeling a tiny heartbeat-like vibration on the right side of the crystal.

“Move in the direction of the beat,” Leaf instructs.

I step right.

“Open your eyes.”

I obey, to discover that I’ve moved toward Leaf, who changed position while my eyes were closed.

“If something happens, I can use my half of the love stone to guide me to its mate. I’ve not tested the range fully, but it worked well on the palace grounds.”

My throat dries. “We won’t need the love stones, Leaf,” I promise, wrapping my arms around her. “Not this time. ”

She sets her jaw. “But you will take it anyway.”

“I will take it anyway,” I agree. “But for research purposes. All right?” I wait until she nods before strapping the pouch to my thigh and undoing the latch on the concealed passage leading from Lady Lianna’s rooms. My hand stills.

“Leaf... if something does happen—it won’t, but if it does—go to Everett, all right?

Blackmail Trace if he won’t help outright, but make sure Raza takes you with her. ”

As before, the dungeon’s stench greets me well before I finish descending the dark spiral staircase. This time, however, Calvin appears promptly after I ask for him. Taking off a leather apron, he hangs it on a hook before leading me into the dusty room.

“Tea?” he asks.

“No. Thank you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I indulge in a cup while we speak?” I nod and Calvin pours tea for himself and settles into a chair. “How can I be of service?”

Taking a deep breath—and regretting it immediately—I sit across from the questioner. Once I outline the basics of my plan and the information I seek, Calvin nods with understanding.

“The prisoner claims to have met with the others to receive orders about a day’s trek into the North Wood.” He sips his tea. “He claims he could lead someone to the spot.”

“Would you trust him to do so?”

Calvin smiles. “Absolutely not. His only hope for survival would be to lead the man he guided to his death.”

I tap a finger against my knee. “Could he provide a description of key landmarks? ”

Another sip of tea. “I expect so. Perhaps you wish to ask him yourself?”

I try and fail to read the thoughts behind Calvin’s deceptively open face, but the words feel like a test. “Do you believe my doing so would elicit more accurate answers?”

He shrugs. “Unlikely.”

“Then why under the bloody stars did you suggest it?”

“Some people come to me for information. Others enjoy the process we use to obtain it. I wished to know which you were after.” He puts down his cup and rises.

“I will get the landmarks as well as they can be described for you.” I nod my thanks, my stomach twisting as I realize how bad a day someone is about to have because of my inquiry.

Calvin’s gaze seems to penetrate through me.

“Perhaps some good can come from this mess yet.”

I nod my head. As the questioner shifts his weight to leave, I gather breath for my final question.

“Calvin,” I say quietly, my eyes on his discarded tea as the sight of Trace’s marked torso shimmers through my memory.

Those marks didn’t come from battle—they came from a place like this.

“Do people recover from what’s done to them here?

The ones who are not executed—do they recover? ”

“They can,” Calvin says gently. “With help. Who are you concerned about, Kal?”

I shake my head quickly. “Just the prisoner you’re questioning because of me.”

“He’ll be executed soon,” says Calvin. “But you already knew that.”

I leave the palace a half hour later, slipping into the North Wood just as the trainees back at the keep are finishing up the morning training and wistfully fantasizing about the too-far- off midday meal.

The king’s arranged note of Kal’s temporary departure will have already reached the guard master, the message being spread to Trace and Luca, as Kal’s sponsors.

I wonder what the men make of it, how relieved Trace is to be rid of me for a spell.

Each step farther from the palace centers me in the forest’s splendor.

The smell of sticky sap and moist bark is a welcome change from the reek of manicured flowers and courtiers’ perfumes, to say nothing of chattering squirrels and the occasional woodpecker providing a calmer backdrop than the bloody stinging wasps that the palace seems to breed.

My feet fall silently on the forgiving earth as I navigate the forest, marking the land features.

The prisoner told Calvin that he’d followed a stream to a man-sized mossy boulder, where he met his cohorts.

The description, together with signs of disturbed branches and moss’s preference to grow on the north side of its host, offers a solid start to my search.

I just wish I knew what I was looking for.

I find the prisoner’s stream and boulder five hours into my hike, just as the joy of the wilderness begins surrendering to fatigue.

I stop with my hand on the stone, listening to the gurgling water.

Someone was here before, recently enough that the boot prints they left in the mud are still clear.

But there is little else at this rendezvous point but more bushwhacked trails, leading in different directions.

What did you expect, a flag and a manifesto?

Stifling a sigh, I retreat from the boulder, careful not to add my own boot prints to the mix as I pick a trail at random and follow it west. I’ve two and a half, maybe three hours of sunlight left before I need to settle in for the night.

It’s the sudden silence of the forest that stops me in my tracks an hour later.

Not total silence—the wind still rustles the trees and the burbling stream still sings in the distance—but the animals and birds, those I hear none of now.

As if they’ve scattered from something or know better than to approach.

My pulse thumps hard, casing off all fatigue.

Stepping silently toward a sturdy tree, I scamper into the branches for a better view. And freeze.

There is a road here. A trampled path wide enough to let horses pass and so long that I cannot see its end.

My body tenses. The well-worn ground cleared of trees and foliage has as much legitimate business being in the middle of the woods as I do in the Royal Guard.

Someone put it here for transport. Of what?

I shimmy back on my branch, concealing myself in the tree while I think. My heart and mind race, weighing and discarding the possibilities like gowns. Not wide enough for a wagon, but worn well. People pass here. In large numbers. And from this point, they are less than a day’s travel to Delta.

A wail, long and pleading, cuts through the forest, followed at once by a crack and a scream of pain.

My limbs tighten around the branch that I lie on. The animals are steering clear not just because the path is here, but because there is someone on it. Someone who isn’t here willingly by the sound of it.

Prisoners. The memory tickles my throat.

The prisoners I told Trace about. My jaw tightens.

The same bushy foliage that keeps me well concealed is also blocking whatever is happening from my view.

Climbing back to the ground, I swim between the trees toward the origin of that wail, each step a careful, silent shuffle along the earth.

Speed, stealth, proximity to the mark—a scout can have only two of the three at once, and with the coming darkness, time is not on my side.

Not that I will be sleeping tonight. Once I know who—what—these people are, it will be a long night of travel back to Delta to warn Firehorn of the impending arrival .