Page 29

Chapter 29

Rahk

My wounds from killing the kravok are minor. My frustration stings much sharper. I had the Ivy Mask right there. He was in my grasp—I had touched him.

And yet, he got away.

When I first realized the Path he’d taken, I assumed it was by mistake after the likely fright of running into Ymer the Indefatigable, who is now officially a problem. I was afraid I would lose my chance to catch him because he walked right into a monster’s lair. But that was hardly the case. The Ivy Mask knew exactly what he was doing. It was a ploy to outsmart me—and it worked. I grudgingly admire his tenacity and quick thinking. It does reveal that he knows I hunt him. How he figured that out, I do not know.

My spells alerted me exactly when the rescued slaves got onto the coach and fled the city. I could not have made it in time due to the time lost fighting the kravok. Still, I would not have stopped their flight.

This wasn’t supposed to be a difficult assignment. But I’m already nearly three weeks in Harbright, and I’m no closer to catching him than I was at the beginning.

The tattoo at the back of my neck burns. Pavi’s full-lipped pout returns to mind.

I’m going to get the Ivy Mask. No matter what.

Kat brings me breakfast first thing. The skin under her eyes is darkened and saggy, as though she slept little. She says nothing as she places the tray before me and moves to leave.

“How did you sleep?” I ask, watching her instead of the cup of tea I bring to my lips.

She shrugs, her eyes skittering to mine and away. “Not very well, I confess.”

The tea is too hot. I blow on it and set it down. “Then you must rest this afternoon.”

She winces, and at first it strikes me as though from a physical pain, but then I realize I must have activated her fear of dismissal. “I wouldn’t want to leave my work undone.”

“You will work better if you are properly rested. You will rest.”

She nods once. “Yes, my lord.”

No more arguments? I breathe through my discomfort at her address, and stare at the door she disappears through long after she’s gone.

There is far too much on my mind, too many matters of greater weight, and yet the thing I find myself thinking about is Lady Vandermore. I haven’t yet gone to Vandermore Manor to withdraw my addresses. I can always change my mind—perhaps the heiress’s alliance will be exactly what I need to earn the queen’s favor and shorten my stay in the human lands. What if courtship isn’t enough, though? What if the only way to gain the queen’s favor is to actually marry the girl?

If Ymer the Indefatigable leads me to such drastic measures, I might defy Ash’s orders not to kill him.

The thought of bringing a human wife into this house, into this very room, all while Kat serves me in charade, is far too repulsive to be considered. My relationship with Kat would become different. I couldn’t sit with her each evening and play Fool’s Circle. I couldn’t even keep her so close in the room adjacent to mine. I couldn’t tease her, watch over her, or enjoy her presence while I was married to another woman.

I couldn’t think about what she said to me in her drunken haze.

“You are good. I didn’t think so at first, but I see it now.”

“Edvear!” I call.

My steward comes at once. His cheeks are reddened, his ears bent backward, and his crisp shirt is untucked slightly.

“You look upset,” I say, instead of issuing my order.

“Well, of course I’m upset!” he declares, wringing his hands. “The cow isn’t producing much milk anymore, so we don’t have enough cream to make butter for tonight’s rolls. Mrs. Finch is at her wit’s end. She is doing her best, but I’ve hardly given her enough to work with. Apparently with these cows, if they stop producing milk, they are useless until they have another spawn—which will take months!”

“That is unfortunate,” I reply. “I am sorry you must deal with such trouble.”

Edvear pulls himself together. “It is no matter, my lord. I suppose we can buy butter in the market. I won’t let such a fine cook as Mrs. Finch go without what she needs. What can I do for you?”

There is a note in his tone that gives me pause. Has my steward taken an interest in the widowed cook? He will be sorely disappointed when it is time to return to Nothril.

I pretend I noticed nothing. “Please arrange a meeting with Lady Duxbury Vandermore.”

“At once, my lord.”

An ear-splitting crash echoes from the opposite side of the house. Both Edvear and I turn toward it.

Edvear tusks. “It’s that boy again. He’s as clumsy today as he was on his first day. He’s driving Mrs. Banks insane. It’s barely past breakfast and she already looks ready to box his ears.”

I shoot to my feet and shove past him. If that woman lays a hand on Kat—

The yelling in the kitchen is enough to guide me through the hallways. I throw open the door to find Kat on the floor, grimacing in pain next to my fallen breakfast tray. The china has broken to pieces, tea spilled everywhere, and chipped dishes scattered across the floor.

“—useless, clumsiest—”

“Enough!” I demand, grabbing Kat under the armpits and pulling her to her feet, away from the broken china immediately. I cannot keep my voice from betraying my temper this time. “Mrs. Banks, I have been clear that you are not to raise your voice or your hand against Nat. It is nothing but a few broken dishes. I will clean it up myself if that would please you!”

Mrs. Banks stares at me in shock. She looks like she wants to shift her tirade to me and yell that I shouldn’t have so obvious a favorite among my staff. Which she might be right about—but I couldn’t care less.

I put Kat gently on her feet, shielding her from Mrs. Banks with my body. She stumbles slightly, grabbing my wrist with a tight grip as though she might fall.

She’s injured.

My blood turns hot in my veins. Was I too late? Did Mrs. Banks already lay a hand on her? I barely restrain the burst of violence inside me. I am not in Nothril, and I will not be hasty in meting out judgment.

But if Mrs. Banks did this, she will be immediately dismissed.

I don’t release my grip on Kat. “Edvear, please see that this is handled. If it’s too much trouble for the staff”—these words come out with far more bite than they ought—“then wait for me and I’ll deal with it myself.”

“I will clean it up—” Kat starts to protest.

“No, you will not,” I reply firmly as Edvear shuts the kitchen door, giving us the privacy I need to bend and scoop her up into my arms.

“Master!” she cries, at once wriggling to free herself. A flash of pain crosses her face at the movement. She tries to hide it, but she’s not fast enough.

“Where are you hurt?” I demand, taking her to my quarters for privacy. I kick open the bedroom door, then shut it with my heel.

She colors brightly. “I’m not hurt. I only—”

I stop before the bed, holding her firmly so she cannot squirm free. “You are going to tell me exactly where you are hurt and how it happened, or else I will search you for your injury.”

Her head draws back sharply. I knew that threat would loosen her tongue. I set her down on the bed gently and place my palm on the footboard, waiting for her explanation.

“I sprained my ankle,” she blurts. “It’s really nothing. It wasn’t Mrs. Bank’s fault. That was mine. I just took a misstep and sprained my ankle and spilled your tray everywhere. I am the worst servant! Please forgive me, Master. I promise to do better.”

“Let me see your ankle.”

She draws in a hiss. “Please, my lord, do not trouble yourself.”

“Too late. Show me. Or else I will summon the doctor.”

Her skin goes pale. “No—no, my lord! Such a thing is not necessary. You can see for yourself that it is a minor injury.”

I withhold my sigh. It is so ridiculous that she still does not believe I know she is a woman. If only she would confide in me—when she is sober —all of this would be tremendously simple. We wouldn’t need to maintain this ridiculous charade.

She pulls her right leg onto the bed and rolls up her breeches enough to expose her ankle, and nothing more. “See? It’s not even swollen. It’s a silly injury that will be healed in no time.”

Her slender, delicate ankle shows no sign of injury. I bend to get a closer look and find not a single thing wrong with it.

It is possible I overreacted.

I straighten my spine, clasping my hands behind my back, trying to forget the violence toward Mrs. Banks that had stirred in my gut only moments ago. “I am glad it is nothing serious. This is even more reason, however, for you to rest this afternoon.”

She rolls down her breeches and nods. She doesn’t seem herself at all today. I want to press her, to find out what it is that turns her bright gaze cloudy. As long as she thinks I know nothing of her secret, however, the most I can do is offer her rest this afternoon.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says, using both her hands to push herself to her feet. “I will work hard this morning and then rest as you have ordered. I promise I shall not be clumsy anymore or break any more valuables.”

I study her for a moment. Sunlight plays across her freckled cheekbones, illuminating her lashes. Then, because I cannot help myself, I reach out and ruffle her hair. It’s the only show of affection I can give. She wrinkles her nose, and it’s a reminder that the lively Kat is still there beneath the lack of sleep and her injury.

Then an idea occurs to me. A slight smile twitches at my lips. “Come with me.”

She eyes me suspiciously before following me out to the back patio. The weather is already notably hotter than it was when I first arrived and is on the outer edge of pleasant unless I step into the shade, or a breeze picks up.

I make sure to glance back at Kat every few minutes to ensure she isn’t having trouble walking. Once, when she seems to be slowing down, I say, “If your ankle is bothering you too much, I can carry you the rest of the way over my shoulder.”

Her gaze shoots up to mine, her face coloring deep red. I laugh and slow my pace for her, pleased by her reaction.

“Are we going to the creek?” she asks.

“Cool water is good for reducing swelling. Especially on a hot day like today.”

When I glance back at her, her step has slowed. I chuckle again, reaching back to take her arm so she doesn’t slip when we reach the smooth, wet stones of the creek. “There is nothing more revitalizing than a dip in the cold creek. Your ankle will thank you.”

“You don’t need to tend to me like I’m a wilting flower,” she whines, sounding almost petulant. “That water is cold !”

I roll my eyes. Yes, it’s cold. And yes, I do need to watch over her carefully, since she doesn’t seem inclined to do it herself. I strip off my shirt without a thought and it’s only when I glance back and find her very pointedly averting her eyes that I remember yet again the human sense of modesty. It’s only my back. I spare an amused thought for how utterly shocked she would be if she spent any time at all in Faerieland. It is a wild place.

I jump into the creek and dunk my head under, taking the shock of cold in all at once. It’s a moment of frigid, and then a second later, a pleasant contrast to the heat of the day. I turn around, grinning, looking to see how Kat is coming along.

She stands on the bank, still fully clothed. Staring at me with an expression like that of a trapped animal. I sigh, wiping a hand down my face. The words, “Listen, I know you’re a woman. No need for scruples,” nearly pass my lips. But I cannot shock her if I want her to join me.

So I march to the bank, shaking the water out of my wet hair and crossing my arms over my chest, as I tell her: “Don’t act like a little girl. Be a man!”

The words have their intended effect. She moves into action, kicking off her shoes, determination flashing across her features. But when she dips her toe in like a delicate maiden, my patience has worn thin.

I grab her around the thighs and pull her off the bank. She shrieks—a very girlish sound—and instinctively wraps her arms around my neck. Laughing, I wrap both arms around her, holding her to my chest, and dunk both of us under the water.

She spews water out of her mouth the second I let her go, shoving away from me and growling, “I was coming !”

“You were being a pansy,” I reply, happy to forget everything in the pleasure of teasing her. “I couldn’t wait all morning.”

Her mouth drops open in outrage, her wet hair sticking to her face and neck. She sweeps her hands across the surface of the water, sending a large splash at me. I take it, squeezing my eyes shut as the water pelts them. Then I open them, and she’s looking at me with such dread, I laugh again.

“That’s right. You should be scared. Because I’m not letting you get out of here until I splash you in revenge.”

She squeaks, turning to run, but the creek is full of unsteady rocks, and I cannot let her run without risking her ankle being sprained again. I grab her arm, which she protests with a loud squeal. My splash drenches her all over again. She shrieks, gripping my elbow to keep from falling.

“You are evil!” she cries.

I grin down at her. “And you are about as tough as a pillow.”

My comment lands exactly as I hoped, and she tries to shove me backwards into the creek.

It’s right then that my attention drops slightly, noting the way her clothes stick to her skin. The outlines of a close-fitted undergarment beneath her tunic are completely exposed. It catches me off-balance, and Kat’s shove succeeds. I hit the water. Cold rushes over me, but I barely notice it. It feels like I’ve glimpsed her in a vulnerable state, not meant for me.

“Ha!” she cries, triumphantly, pointing at me as I pull myself back to my feet.

I make myself smirk back at her. “Two can play at this game.”

She turns and tries to run, though the waist-high water slows her progress significantly. My amusement fades when my gaze drops to her back. Should anyone glimpse her when she heads to her room to change and dry off, her secret will be exposed.

I pull myself out of the creek and settle on the warm grass. She seems to have realized what I did, for she has already ducked below the stream, keeping herself covered from my gaze. Something about her wet hair and that look of determination to bear something she hates shifts some of my discomfort back into amusement.

“Have you decided you like the cold now?” I tease, marveling yet again that she seems to believe me fooled by her scheme. Perhaps she has not been among men enough to know how they behave amongst themselves. Does she long to believe so much that I am fooled, that no matter how I tease her, she refuses to see the truth?

She lifts her pert little chin, which does not disguise the chatter of her teeth. “It’s . . . revitalizing. As you said. Since it’s so c-cold, all the pain is gone from my ankle. It’s just numb instead.”

I give a small snort. “How much longer do you think you’ll swim?”

Her series of blinks are a smidge too fast. “I d-don’t know y-yet. I’m loving the c-cold.”

Part of me wants to stay here, testing her, knowing she won’t leave the creek until I do, wanting to see how long she’ll keep up the charade. The gentlemanly part of me, however, makes me stand and pull my shirt over my wet torso. “I’ll leave you to your soaking. Just be sure to finish within the hour, lest I be forced to fish you out with a hook and line.”

She shoots me a face and I laugh before I turn around and make my way up the hill.