Page 21

Chapter

Twenty

A musty 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.

She could do it again.

Following the muffled voices, she made her way up a decaying staircase, jumping over two missing steps until she found herself on the second floor.

The dim light was impossibly darker up here .

Drawing deep breaths to settle the weight on her chest, she peeked through the first door.

No.

Lessia’s heart slammed against her ribs at the dirty mattress on the floor, the only thing in the small windowless room.

Her chest compressed further as water dripping onto stone and metal clanking echoed in her ears, and darkness tinged the edge of her vision.

Bracing her hands against the wall, she tried to force air into her lungs.

She couldn’t panic.

Not here.

Not when Ardow and Amalise couldn’t bring her back from the darkness.

Please. Please , not here, she begged her racing heart and the lungs refusing her air.

“How long were you imprisoned for?”

Lessia whirled around so quickly her back slammed against the wall, and she finally gulped down some air when the impact snapped her out of the terror.

Loche leaned against the wall opposite her, his hands leisurely tucked behind his back as his hawk eyes trailed over her face down to her heaving chest.

When she began shaking her head, he growled softly, “Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen that look one too many times after I let out the poor people the previous regent kept in his cellar.”

Pursing her lips, she flicked her eyes to the side where Craven and Venko strolled out of two rooms.

The men eyed them as they passed but didn’t stop as they walked down the stairway, taking a seat by the table, judging from the low scraping of chairs that reached her ears.

“They can’t hear you now. How long? ”

Loche glared at her as he flicked his dark hair out of his face.

She thought of lying, but if she wanted to ever get him to trust her so that she could get the information she needed—and not too much to put Ellow at risk—perhaps telling the truth would help.

Loche was too perceptive for his own good.

He’d surely see right through her if she lied.

“Too long,” she mumbled, steeling herself for his reaction and readying herself should she need to undo the words with her magic.

His storming eyes narrowed. “That’s why you live in Ellow?”

Nodding, she forced herself to keep his gaze.

It wasn’t a lie, not really.

Even if her king hadn’t ordered her to come here, she would have.

Would have gladly left Vastala behind and never looked back.

“So you’re not here to spy for your king?”

Lessia’s spine shot straight, her hand moving toward the dagger poking her thigh. “Why would you ask me that?”

Tilting his head, Loche glanced at the hand hovering outside her cloak. “You came armed. Clever girl. Or perhaps it was that resourceful guard of yours. That makes more sense.”

He nodded to himself before his eyes sliced to hers once more. “You don’t think I know what’s been happening in Vastala? Like your king, I have spies everywhere in Havlands.”

She remained quiet, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“I’ve already informed your king we have nothing to do with the deaths and disappearances. And he isn’t unaware of my spies. Like I know of his in Ellow. But if he were to have one infiltrate the elections… Now, that’s an act of war, one I wouldn’t be able to overlook.”

“He is not my king,” Lessia hissed. “I have lived in Ellow for years. This is my home. I don’t know what’s happening in Vastala, nor do I care.”

Still not a lie.

She didn’t consider Rioner her king, even though she might have to do his bidding for a few more weeks.

And she truly didn’t care one lick about what happened in Vastala.

But her stomach churned as golden-brown hair flashed before her eyes.

With a low snarl, she forced the images away.

“What a temper you have. Is it the Fae genes, or just part of your charming personality? What I’ve gathered from the patrons frequenting your taverns, you’re typically much more agreeable.” Loche quirked a brow as his gaze swept over her tense posture.

Clenching her fists, she couldn’t stop herself from growling, “Can you fault me? I’ve tried to be kind to you, but you seem to hate me for no reason.”

“I don’t care enough for you to hate you, darling.” He smirked. “I just think it’s curious that you, of all people, would partake in the election.”

“Why? Because I’m half-Fae?” She couldn’t stop her lip from curling, her canines rasping against the bottom one.

“No.” His eyes flashed. “I have been advocating for more collaboration with the Fae. I believe our kind can benefit from forgetting the old grievances. But it does strike me as odd that a half-Fae, as you say, who has shown no interest in politics nominates herself in our election two days after I met with your king to discuss what’s happening in Vastala and informed him we’ve had ships disappear as well, soldiers who never came back from the borders. ”

It was all she could do to not let her brows fly up, keep her features neutral.

It was happening in Ellow too?

She hadn’t heard anything.

No whispers in her taverns, no gossip from her suppliers.

She needed to ask Ardow, who managed most of the business with the ships, if he’d picked up anything.

If whatever was going on was this widespread, there must be rumors she’d missed.

“What doesn’t make sense to me, though, is why Rioner would employ a tavern owner. Someone who’s lived here for years with no signs of ever even contacting someone in Vastala.”

His eyes swept over her again.

Too perceptive.

Too seeing.

“You don’t want to be here. That’s very clear. So why are you?”

Guilt nearly made her cringe.

But Lessia made herself think of Ardow and Amalise, of the children they saved.

She was doing this for them.

And she’d make sure she didn’t give the king anything that would risk Loche’s position—that would risk her home.

Because Ellow was truly her home now, and she’d protect it with all her might.

Forcing her face to remain impassive, she responded quietly, “Because I think there are things that need to change in Ellow. You might have done some good work, I’ll give you that, but I think I can do better.”

“That was your first lie.”

Loche shook his head, his jaw twitching as he glared at her. “We’re watching you. If we find a single reason to, we’ll take you out. And if we find out you’re a spy…” His nostrils flared, a lethal promise in those gray eyes.

Shrugging to mask the shudder that skittered down her spine, she offered him a tight smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“We’ll see about that.” Loche’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he offered her an infuriating smirk when her eyes followed.

Turning around, he bent down and lifted a loose floorboard, his smirk widening as he pulled out a bottle of amber liquor.

“I learned a few things after the misery here last time.”

Swinging the bottle, he started down the stairs, turning his head over his shoulder. “You plan on staying there all night?”

Sighing, Lessia followed him, glaring at his shiny hair and broad back the entire way down.