Page 41

Chapter 41

Rahk

The roaring waterfalls of the Revar Court coat my wings with a fine mist. I go straight to the palace, flying past the rickety bridges and navigating the maze of tree dwellings.

This palace is not situated in the biggest tree, but the oldest. Its winding trunk is wider than my entire Ashbourne estate, with stairs and rope ladders that drape between elegant, moss-covered platforms. Everything smells of earth, vanilla sap, and wood.

I go to the nighttime cleric. He is a short man of sticklike arms and legs, a greenish tint to his skin, and ears twice as long as mine.

His eyes go wide when he sees me. “Prince Rahk! To what do we owe this . . . ahem . . . pleasure?”

I lean one elbow on the wooden counter he stands behind. “I need a list of everyone who visited this Court in the last sixteen days.”

“Sixteen days?” the cleric squeaks. “You do not have clearance for this. And such a task is impossible! I’d need to get access to the ward spells—”

I lean a little closer, dropping my voice. “You will do it. At once. And you will have it ready for me by tomorrow night.”

“But Prince Rahk, I cannot—”

“We would not want to see the alliance between our Courts come undone, would we?”

The cleric balks. “The Nothril Court wouldn’t.”

“We would. So please get me this information.”

He gulps. “Yes, yes, Prince Rahk. Of course.”

One Court down, several more to go before dawn. One step closer to finding the Ivy Mask’s accomplice—and thus one step closer to finding the Ivy Mask himself.

Normally, this is one of my favorite parts of the hunt; when I am almost there, but there is still enough unknown to keep the thrill alive. Instead, my mind keeps drifting away from the task at hand, counting down the minutes until I can return to my estate in Ashbourne.

Kat

Around midmorning, while I am reading my Fool’s Circle strategy book with a warm cup of tea, Edvear comes in and bows. “Lady Katherine. The master wishes to see you.”

I will never get used to him calling me Lady Katherine . I leave what I am doing and follow him to Rahk’s study.

Rahk is standing with his back to the door, reading a letter he holds. A letter with something else—a remittance of money? My curiosity has me leaning closer to his tall frame. He folds the note, turns upon my entry, and places it in my hands.

Then he walks around his desk, takes a seat, and leans back with his hands linked behind his head while I peruse what I hold. “Is this your fortune that everyone speaks of?”

It is indeed a promissory note. I inspect the amount, and I cannot help my small smile. “This is the monthly allowance from my fortune.”

Rahk lifts one eyebrow. My fortune has impressed even a fae prince, apparently. “How did your father come to be so wealthy?”

“Management of land, from my understanding, though he was only continuing the family legacy. The Vandermores have owned much of the agricultural land in Harbright for generations. It is a distant cousin of mine who manages the estate itself.”

A furrow appears between his brows. He leans forward in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he stares at the bookshelf across the room. Then his black eyes return to mine. “Do you have a copy of your father’s will?”

I wish I knew the thoughts that turn through his head. He is so beautiful, and he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it. I cannot believe that when I first met him, I didn’t see it myself. It is almost overwhelming to have his attention on me like this.

But I’ve got to answer his question so he doesn’t know I’ve been admiring the way his hair falls over the square plane of his forehead, and the perfection of his wide cheekbones. I clear my throat. “I do not have a copy of the will. Agatha has one, and I would say a servant could get it for you—none of them like Agatha—but she keeps her own personal maid and doesn’t let anyone else near her things. Not even her own daughters. But my cousin, the one who manages the estate, would also have a copy.” The more I talk, the more I forget his beauty and instead grow cautious, trying to keep my stomach from dropping. He wants to know what is his, now that the money is his and not mine. Perhaps he won’t want my cousin to continue managing the estate. He might want to do that himself.

Rahk holds out a hand to me, and I reluctantly hand over the promissory note and the letter. To my surprise, he only takes the letter. He points to the address on the seal. “Is this your cousin’s address? I would like to write to him for a copy of the will.”

I stand there, still awkwardly holding out the note. “Yes, it is.”

He looks between my face and the note, then back at my face. He does not take it. I purse my lips and set it on his desk.

“Why are you giving that to me?” he asks.

I blink. “Because . . . it’s yours.”

He places two fingers on the slip of paper and slides it to the edge of his desk toward me. “Actually, it’s yours.”

I stare at him stupidly. Did he forget the terms I told him of the will? “No, no, you misunderstand. It was only going to be mine if I remained unmarried until I turned twenty-one. As I am still two weeks away from that deadline and since you have married me, the money is yours.”

A muscle twitches in his throat. He does not reach for the money. “No, it is you who misunderstand me. This is your money. Your inheritance. You are only days away from your birthday—that counts as fulfillment of the requirement. I will not touch it. It is yours and yours alone.”

Then he picks up the promissory note and holds it out to me. His jaw is firm and unyielding.

My mouth falls open. “Master—I—”

His eyes flash at the title. I didn’t mean to use it—it slipped out by habit.

I try again, suddenly unsure if I ought to call him my lord or Rahk, and end up blurting, “My Rahk—!” My face goes hot with mortification. I swallow hard, straining the tendons in my throat, and repeat clearly, “My lord, Rahk. I couldn’t—that is, I don’t think the will works the way you’re speaking. It is very set to the date, not just near the date. I couldn’t accept this.”

He peers at me over the tent of his fingers. A slight smile tilts his severe mouth at my slip. He quickly hides it and clears his throat. “Kat, what use do you think I have of your money?”

I shake my head, frowning. “Well, just the same as anyone would have . . .?”

He gets up from his desk, walks past me, and shuts the door, wrapping us up in privacy and the soft sound of his steps as he returns to me. He stops very, very close, peering down into my face as I forget to breathe. One of his fingers touches a strand of my hair that has come loose from Mary’s meticulously arranged fake bun. My eyes feel very, very wide as he traces the lock down my temple to my ear, only to continue and gently trail to my jaw. His touch is a flame, soft but unbearably hot.

My thoughts scatter.

“Kat,” he murmurs.

My mouth is open. I shut it abruptly.

“Do you have any clue how rich princes of Faerieland are?” he asks, his lips pulling to one side in a smirk. His finger curls to a knuckle under my jaw, and he brings it slowly across my skin to just below my chin. “I mean no insult on your fortune, but truly I couldn’t possibly come up with a use for it.”

A flush scorches my cheeks. I wasn’t trying to disparage his means or imply he needed anything from me. I only meant—

His voice is a soft caress against my forehead. It is warm, with a smile in the timbres. “Take your money, wife. Nothing you do will convince me to touch it.”

Then he kisses me. It is just a whisper of his lips against my hairline, but I could fall over from the shock of it.

Not knowing what else to do, I swipe the promissory note from the desk. “Alright. Thank you. Goodbye.”

I scramble out of that study as quickly as I can, pretending I don’t hear his warm chuckles following me.

I run straight to Mary, who hangs the laundry outside. She looks up as I skitter to a stop and wave the money in front of her face. I hope she assumes the tomato red of my face comes from the running, and not because I am replaying how it felt to have Rahk caressing my face.

“I can give them more than a single stagecoach ticket and a loaf of bread!” I burst. “And I can get Bartholomew back! We must go at once! I need to talk to Charles and find out who bought her!”