Page 24 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Rorsyd

There is a unique pleasure in strolling across the floor to a table to dine when I’ve just screwed Wyntre in the bed upstairs. This sort of ownership of a female must be part of being soulmates. I’m sure she feels the same in reverse, and I do not mind at all.

We drag out the solid but plain chairs, adding more scuff marks to the scratched timber beneath. Lanterns in the back corners supplement the weak sunlight leaching in through grimy windows. It’s busier than before, and a few more customers have turned up, though most are like us and eating a meal.

Wyntre leans in on her elbows. “A couple of people are looking. I thought we were supposed to be plain and unremarkable like this?”

“Yeah. I’ve no idea why. Just ignore them.”

Two men do seem to be watching us, but they soon return to their game of cards. I take note of them, just in case. One has intense eyes but scruffy, dirty-blond hair, while the other man is older, wrinkled, and sun-burned, with long black hair tied behind his head.

We order chicken, potatoes, greens, and beer, the right sort of beer. Rumpelskin Black, the beer that’s thicker than a sweater. We consume the food in silence, since we’re both starving after days on the road. Despite the place’s reputation, it boasts quality food.

It’s not until the plates are cleared that she tries the beer.

After an initial grimace and a gasp, Wyntre eyes the pewter tankard with skepticism then nods. “It’s…good. If lethal.”

I grin and raise mine, take a swig. Then I set it down and contemplate her with my hands wrapped about it. “No one is close enough to listen, so, what are our plans for Langordin?”

“If it’s safe to stay a while, I would like to visit those huge libraries. To find out more about my parents and other things? Such as why the war happened.”

I could tell her to ask me, but that’s a trap waiting to happen. “You think the books here will be more honest? More detailed than what you know already?”

She nods.

“Why?”

“I know it might not be so, but if I’m to choose where to go from here, I want to know…” She opens her hands, tilts her head. “Everything I can?”

“I don’t know if you’ll find much about Slaedorth…”

“I don’t want to go there, or live there, but if I can read something without being there, you know? Plus necromancy…there has to be something? Those libraries look like they’re enormous.”

“They are. They’re ancient. Tens of thousands of books.” I drum my fingers on the cold pewter. “Although, in all my time alive, I can honestly say necromancers are as rare as dragonshifters.”

“Meaning unless one of them was keen on writing down his stuff, I may find little to nothing. Hmmm .”

“Yes.” I lean back in my chair, feel it shift and creak in protest. I pray the joints hold. “And we’re hoping to find this Kyvin. Yes? The man who has not wakened for twenty years. Which is a big clue saying he is und—” Wyntre kicks my boot and widens her eyes, twitches them left.

I turn my head to find our two watchers approaching.

They halt a few feet away. Up close, I can see the scruffy one’s blond hair is white at the tips. In one hand, he carries a satchel. He stretches his eyebrows upward, gives a flat, fast smile. “Hi there.”

We both nod. “Hi,” I add. “Something bothering you?”

“Neils, you keep an eye out while I talk.” Then he presumes on us and nabs a chair from the next-door table, pulls it over, sits. A spray of hair swings across his eye, and he leaves it there.

His friend—the older, gnarlier man, with misshapen hands that have seen heavy labor—he does similar with a chair but sits a little further along the wall. Since we’re in a corner, he has a good field of view of the rest of the room.

Are these enemies? Why us?

“We don’t know you,” I begin, making a quiet threat.

The blond comes closer, lays his hands flat on the table. “No, but we know something about you. It’s okay.” He lifts one palm, aiming to calm us. “No harm intended. The opposite, actually. We’re a group of let’s say, unhappy people, who have connections all through Orencia and Zardrake.”

“Orencia?” I enunciate that slowly. The man’s accent is from there.

“My name is Andacc. I’m pretty sure I know yours. The mage at the gate is one of ours. He provided a distraction so that Miss W here could get through.”

At the W , Wyntre sharpens her expression, purses her lips. She needs to learn to stay a little less obvious in her reactions. I must teach her that. Surreptitiously, I extrude my claws, hiding them in my lap—it’s faster to use those than a sword.

“Go on.” She shoots me a glance. “I can vouch that I felt something back there.”

If they know who we are despite the disguises Hunder made us, these men are dangerous.

“How?” I ask bleakly.

He gets to the root of my question immediately. “The etharum you carry. It’s like a lighthouse. One might be unremarkable, but whatever you have, it’s more than that. Two or three crystals?”

Neither of us replies. I decide to just breathe and see what he adds. Wyntre does the same.

“You’re lucky you came in the south gate. You would’ve been stopped at the others. I can give you a box to shield what you have.”

“For what price?” Wyntre asks.

“For nothing.” He smiles, looks from her to me. “I hope to cultivate you as, maybe, helpers.”

“Helpers?” I shake my head.

“I’ll let you guess our aims. We are the Church of the Usurper or, if you like, of the Chained King. The C of U. We formed twenty years ago.”

“You want to free him.” My guess is not exactly that. I shrug. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Clever.” He reaches into his satchel. “Before I forget.” The box he places on the table is a hand’s width on all sides, and he unlocks it with a key. “It’s iron lined to shield the magik. Here’s the key. And here is my demonstration of how well it works. This is mine.”

When he opens the lid and removes something small, Wyntre makes an O with her mouth. Lying on his palm is a green-hued warnite crystal.

“I’m an ice mage, though not very powerful. Yet.” His eyes shimmer a frosty, blue-white then fade back to blue. “Even so, I can feel the emanations of the etharum that’s in your room. This is yours. A gift.” He slides the box to Wyntre. “If you wish to chat, you can leave a note under the shattered goblin beside the lake at the Fromeaux Library. You know the place?” He asks that of me.

“A better question is how did you know we were going to visit those?”

“Libraries? Neils can lip read. You should take more care in public.”

“Noted. Yes, I know the library and the goblin sculpture in the gardens.”

“Good. We’ll check it daily. I want you on our side, you can see that. And you may have need of us. Your posters are everywhere. The AS want you badly.”

AS means the Aos Sin, but really, it’s King Madlin who wants us.

Wyntre inhales, evidently dearly needing to question him. I shake my head, but she speaks.

“Do you know why?”

“Knowing your skills…your potential skills. We think it’s to raise his daughter.”

Shite. She died twenty years ago.

Andacc lets that sink in then he continues. “You might think us foolish because our king is where he is, but consider this: the Aos Sin have grown worse since they won the war. Being immortal doesn’t make you wiser. It makes you more powerful. And too much power for too long has brought them to a bloody reign of evil. The things I’ve seen and heard give me nightmares. Sorry.” He directs that at me. “Not meaning you with that immortal comment.”

Then the smart bastard shifts back his chair, stands, and walks away with his friend.

“That stung. It does make you wiser, sometimes.”

“Yes, dear.” Wyntre pats my hand while struggling to hold back a smile. She waits for the two fae to leave through the front door then adds, “He could be useful.”

“And definitely dangerous to associate with.”

“So are we.”

“This is true.” I take her hand, counting and caressing her cute fingers while I think. “There’s no hurry. They’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Yes.” Her mouth twists. “For as long as the king’s daughter has waited.”

How could this Church of the Usurper be useful to us? We’re not looking to start a rebellion.

The iron-lined box sits on the table, mutely saying what he wanted known: We can help you be safe. We can give you information.

And there is something I need to know.

“What can they expect me to do?” Wyntre murmurs. “The Aos Sin, that is. Even if I could make her come back, which I can’t, she would be undead?”

“I don’t know, but if we’re staying here?—”

“Which we are.”

I nod. “I need to find out if my old rooms are safe to visit. I used a different name when I rented, but that is no guarantee. I might ask him, Andacc, to check them.”

I’ve decided to trust this C of U pair after this one encounter, because we’d be arrested already if they were not trustworthy.

“Sure but. This is just…” Sighing, sounding disturbed, she runs her hands through her hair then leans her elbows on the table and props her chin on her folded hands. “Is it not something we should concern ourselves with? This rebellion of theirs.”

“A rebellion that is not really a rebellion? They’ve been perched on their butts for many years. A king wants you for terrible reasons.” I regard her, trying to see what she is seeing. The innocence of the young. “You lack the power to do anything. Lend yours to this C of U and you may get swatted when they are swept up by the enforcers. That’s my serious take on this.”

“I’m a necromancer,” she whispers, “and you are a dragonshifter.”

“Yes, and you know next to nothing about your magik, and mine has gone to pieces. This king destroyed an army of mages and thousands more.”

Her parents among them. Both of us are thinking that. One day…one day I have to say it.

“It’s just that I want to help fix this, Rorsyd.”

And this is a big part of why I love her.

I understand her and why she wants that. I, too, would love to fix this. I also know it’s going to fail. I’ve seen too many fucking wars, too many rebellions where the rebels get their heads removed.

The waitress arrives to clear our plates. While she makes a clatter piling up the crockery and cups, I sit back and study Wyntre.

If I deny her, would I lose her love? Because if she joins their cause, she might die. And if she joins, and I don’t?—

No, scratch that possibility. I would join just to be near her and protect her.

I’m not certain she will listen to me saying don’t do this or that.

Most important of all, can soulmates break that bond? I don’t know, but that scares me more than anything.

“So we’re visiting the Fromeaux Library tomorrow?” she asks brightly.

I barely hesitate. “We are. Let’s go put the crystals in this box.” On the way up the stairs I think to ask her, “Are you able to feel the magik same as he could?”

“Yes. Sorry. I hadn’t really thought about it, but yes. The pendants are close to a background level. Like Andacc said, it’s the clumping of them together that might betray us.”

“And the iron in the box works as a shield.”

She sucks on her lip. “I should’ve thought of that. Landos taught me blacksmithing. I could make another or a bigger one. The gheist pistol won’t fit. Handling unadulterated iron without gloves can be tricky, of course. Rashes, illness even if you get an overdose.”

I listen to her sorting through the possibilities, and I’m happy. Happier than I have ever been. Just being with her is the world to me.

Yet, she is not immortal.

That thought is a rumbling warning.

I place my hand on her back as she unlocks our door, feeling her soft curves, smelling her hair, her scent. She turns and tilts up her head for one of those beautifully lazy kisses.

I don’t want to ever lose her.

Then it strikes me that this is some measure of what the king is feeling. He and the queen loved their daughter, and they want her back, at any cost.