Page 140 of Dance of Kings and Thieves

The troll wiped her eyes. “I could get you out now.”

“We explained this. Not until the right moment.” Sofia cupped Hodag’s broad chin. “You did well.”

The troll bowed her head and quickly hid any hint she’d burrowed into our cell block.

“Rune, Bo,” Sofia told the two fae who came with Bracken. “There are two guards in my cell. You’ll become them.”

They grinned with a touch of wickedness and disappeared into Sofia’s cell.

Ari tapped on my bars as he strode toward his. “See you soon, Mal. You don’t mind if I call you Mal? I’ve heard our dear Kase call you Mallie, but I absolutely believe if I dared use the endearment I would be without a tongue.”

“Only my closest friends call me Mal.” There was a fleeting shadow over his face. He tipped his chin and began to move, but I gripped his wrist. “So, I would be offended if you didn’t.”

Ari’s smile was slow, almost uncertain. But, as always, he buried any unease behind his words. “I knew my wondrous qualities would win you over.”

He left me with a wink and sealed himself—at least it would seem as if he had—back in his lonesome cell.

I let out a quivering breath and slumped against the cold stone wall.

Not long now.

CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE

THE NIGHTRENDER

It wouldn’t be long now.

I watched the glow of the sun peak around the spires of the Black Palace. The brilliance of the sunrise collided with the grim black of the jagged rods as if they were knives rammed into the rich blood of a heart.

One night. Malin had spent a whole damn night in the palace, and it was far too long. This day could not begin nor conclude fast enough.

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply through my nose. Close. We were so bleeding close.

For now, our focus wasn’t on the palace. It was held by a small worship chantry built outside the gates. From my place in the small patch of cornstalks, I had a clear view of Gunnar, Isak, and Raum.

They were dressed like disheveled farmers looking for a blessing from the gods. Raum turned toward the gardens. Behind me Hagen, Fiske, and Tova watched on, weapons ready if the meet went sour.

Gunnar rapped on the door, removed the tattered, brimmed hat off his head, and fiddled with it in his hands.

He appeared meek, docile, wholly unthreatening when the holy man’s female servant opened the door. In truth, the woman was more than a servant. For nearly thirty turns they’d been secret lovers. Even had a secret son who lived with their two grandchildren in Hemlig. But how could a holy man of the Black Palace reveal he’d not only fallen in love with a measly servant, but he’d also created an inferior bloodline?

Both were aged now with graying hair, but to keep pretenses she would play the role of a simpering servant.

Gunnar said something hurriedly to the woman. As expected, the woman shook her head. I had few doubts she was sharply telling the poor farmer her master had far too many important things to see to today than a prayer for a dying man.

Gunnar pretended to be persistent. Even Isak joined in, hopefully playing on her sympathies with his stuttering tongue.

The woman’s face pinched when Isak wiped his eyes.

Tova snickered behind me. “Men made of muscle with hair growing in all places of their bodies, but one sheds a single tear and women melt.”

“Women enjoy a warrior’s body, but they want a gentle heart, Tov,” Fiske said.

“Oh, and you know so much about what women want in a lover? You are vowed to a man.”

Hagen snorted a laugh, but Fiske simply shrugged, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “But I have lived with your pining after every serf and every warrior since we were twelve. It has been annoyingly informative.”

“I do not pine.” Tova’s fists balled, likely fighting the urge to pinch or pound Fiske’s arm.