Page 61

Chapter 61

Rahk

I have always known Kat to be impulsive, charmingly ridiculous, and inclined to act far less intelligent than she actually is, paired with a propensity toward trouble. But this is rashness, carelessness, and sheer stupidity that I cannot fathom her to be capable of.

Even as I watch her move through the mass of partygoers with movements that are undeniably Kat’s, despite the strange glamours she wears, I stare in disbelief.

I’m furious with her. For risking her life, for saying the things I’ve dreamed of her saying at a time like this, for coming to Faerieland—which in and of itself is violation of the treaty between our peoples. She will end up enslaved by my parents. She’s young and beautiful enough that Lord Nothril might decide she will be his next plaything. And for me to have to sit here, to have to be silent, because Pavi’s life hangs in the balance, and watch as someone abuses my wife?

My hands shake. My heart feels like it is shaking inside my chest, ready to rupture at any moment.

“Infuriating females instead of doing what you came to do?”

The icy tickle of Lord Nothril’s voice cuts through the roar of blood in my veins. Like a vault being locked, I bury everything inside me and pull my expression under my control. Lord Nothril wears floor-length robes of midnight blue, his skin almost translucent, his eyes twin daggers piercing into me.

“I am working,” I reply coolly. “She had information for me. She tried to get a kiss in return for it—that’s why she’s frustrated. Someone associated with the Ivy Mask tried to get her to help him. She was smart to come to me with it.”

“Take her to the dungeon and start removing her skin. That’ll get any last pieces of information out of her.”

He suggests it so casually, it almost destroys my composure. Thankfully, I have years of experience of hiding my true feelings. “Where else do you think I’m going?”

“Your means do not matter to me,” Lord Nothril replies coldly. “So long as they produce results.”

The cold lines of his threat hang in the air.

“You will have your criminal as sworn,” I reply.

With a swish of his robes, he leaves me. I look up—and there is the tall, willowy, blue-haired Kat, keeping her stance steady as Lady Nothril towers over her, blocking her exit. I curse inwardly. How many minutes do we have left?

Of all the realizations to have right now, the wild and ridiculous one that climbs to the forefront of my awareness is that my wife is meeting her mother-in-law.

Kat starts to curtsy, then seems to realize that is a human thing, and tries to smoothly shift into a bow as she says, “Your Imperial Transcendence.”

I could cover my face and groan.

“I do not remember seeing you before,” Lady Nothril says in a disinterested croon.

Kat bows again. “It is my first time to this great palace for Mirror Tide, O Great One.”

“Lady Nothril,” I say, cutting in with a bow. I keep my attention fixed just beyond my mother and refuse to give Kat a single glance. “Ariselle has chanced upon information about the Ivy Mask. I am taking her to aid my investigation immediately. I anticipate the criminal being in your hands in a matter of hours, if less.”

Lady Nothril is not fooled that I try to distract her from Kat. She runs her gaze in a sort of disinterested curiosity over my wife. Then she glides away, leaving me to stride quickly toward the door and Kat to race after me.

The moment we are out of the cavern and into the main hallway, I grab her forearm to keep her from vanishing and march toward my quarters. I try not to look at her even though we are alone. I still cannot fathom what would possess her to risk her life—and mine, and Pavi’s!—to pull a stunt like this. She is many things, but plain stupid is not one of them.

I reach my quarters, unlock the door, and drag Kat inside before slamming the door behind us and renewing the lock. I turn on her just as her glamour melts away, leaving Kat as I remember her—and wearing trousers, a buttoned shirt, with her mother’s glass slippers.

I stare down at her in bewilderment. What is she wearing? I shake my head. There will be time for questions later. “Tell me the wording of that bargain.”

A loud cry from outside my quarters has me reacting—whirling toward the door and drawing one of my swords. Through the thick door, the repeated cry goes up.

“We’ve found the Ivy Mask!”

My eyes go wide. There are too many things happening at once. I must go investigate at once . . . but Kat.

I spin back toward her. She has gone pale and stares with parted lips at the door. Does she realize what I have been trying to do? Surely she pieced it together after hearing what I said to Lady Nothril.

I grab her by the shoulders. “Hide here until I get back. Whatever you do, don’t leave this room. There is something urgent I must deal with. Then I will return, and we’ll find a way to get you out of this mess.”

The impulse to pull her into my arms, to press a kiss to the top of her head, nearly overwhelms me. But I cannot risk her human scent being detected by Lord and Lady Northril, and I cannot trust myself to glamour it right now.

I sheathe my sword, lock my door with Kat behind it, praying desperately that she will not become a casualty of this horrible night. Then I break into a run, following the sound of shouting, until I come upon the scene.

Two Nothril guards have a man on his knees, his face concealed by an ivy mask. His wrists are chained behind him, one of the guard’s long blades resting against his neck.

“Prince Rahk!” cries one of the guards. “Is this not your quarry?”

I crouch before the man and rip his mask off. Beneath are a pair of round spectacles. He wears suspenders over a crisp white shirt. His expression is usually so blank, so focused, that to see him staring at me with some potent emotion in his gaze is startling. The human tailor of Valehaven.

This is not the Ivy Mask.

He’s the distraction while the true Ivy Mask gets away with the Nothril captives. “Put him in the dungeon. I’ll deal with him later,” I order to the guards, shoving the mask into my pocket and getting to my feet.

I return at once to my quarters, shutting the doors behind me. “Kat, I need you to tell me the wording of that bargain and as best of a description of the fae that—”

The chambers are empty. Traces of her scent lingers, but not enough to indicate her presence.

“Kat!” I rush from room to room, but there is no sign of her. I grab the back of my neck, barely restraining my roar of her name. Did she leave? Or did someone take her?

There’s no second scent. No sign of struggle.

I follow her scent to the servants’ entrance. At once, my memory flashes back to the slave girl who I found crawling under my bed. I fling open the door. The damp chill carries the decaying scent of humanity.

There, halfway down what is visible of the tunnel, is a single glass slipper.

I shut my eyes, and it is like my entire life collapses on itself.

Because I finally see what has been staring at me for far too long.

I turn toward my weapon rack and grimly exchange my swords for a bow and a quiver of arrows. Then I duck my head and step into the tunnel. A few strides, and I’ve scooped up Kat’s slipper. I bring it to my nose.

Glass does not hold scent well. But there is just enough still lingering that I pick up my trail.

I let out a deep exhale. I hope to the stars that I am wrong. “You’d better run fast, wife.”