Page 45 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

ESSA

I clambered up onto the slick rocks beneath The Mint and turned back, looking for Charlie to emerge from the black river behind me. But he wasn’t there.

I started to call his name, then stopped myself. If people on the deck above heard me, we’d be finished. Instead, I stared down at the river, watching as the lights from the buildings around us glinted off its inky surface. Seconds slipped by, and with each one, my feeling of unease grew.

He’s gone, I thought, horror and disbelief filling me, my heartbeat galloping.

I took a few panicked steps forward, ready to dive back into the river. Suddenly, a head emerged from the dark water, then a torso. Charlie stumbled to his feet, sputtering and coughing, and I rushed to him, putting an arm around him to help him walk on the uneven boulders.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I got caught up in a conversation with a codfish.”

I rolled my eyes at his stupid jest, but my heart still thundered in my chest. My hands trembled, and not just from the cold.

It was terrifying that the thought of losing Charlie—though it had lasted only a second—had rattled me that much.

But there was no time to chastise myself for my emotions. The mission awaited.

Together, we made our way into the deeper shadows beneath The Mint, where we had less chance of being spotted.

There we both sat on the stones to catch our breath as Charlie unslung the waterproof bag from his shoulder.

We slipped out of our wet clothes and into dry ones.

Mine were ill-fitting pants Charlie had called “jeans” and a button-up shirt of soft fabric he’d gotten from some drawers at the farm.

As he peeled the wet shirt from his body, I couldn’t help but glance over and marvel at the striated muscle of his shoulders, the statuesque, bricklike solidity of his chest, the shadow-traced grid of his abs, forming a V of muscle that plunged down into the pants he was now buttoning.

Then he was pulling a T-shirt on, hiding himself from my view, and I quickly looked away before he caught me staring.

We strapped on our weapons. Daggers for me. A pistol for him.

“Now to figure out how to get in,” he whispered, tilting his head back to look at the bottom of The Mint’s floor.

The plan was for Othura to smash through and create an opening for us to climb up. Hopefully, we’d emerge in some private place like a bathroom or a coat closet, not, ideally, in the middle of the dance floor.

I checked in with Othura. No words were exchanged, but I could tell where she was. Still perhaps a mile away…

I looked up. Heavy beams ran above us, and between them, the straight lines of the wooden planks that formed The Mint’s flooring. Within the pattern of those wooden planks, I saw a faintly outlined square of light.

Charlie saw it too, and we looked at each other. I could tell we were thinking the same thing. It couldn’t be this easy. They couldn’t have left a trapdoor unblocked…

Charlie stood on a boulder and pushed upward on the square with both hands.

It didn’t budge. He shifted, getting his feet securely situated on rocks below, then he braced his back against the hatch above and pushed.

With a sudden creak of wood-on-wood, the thing unstuck and swung upward.

Charlie gave me a grin of disbelief, then peeked his head up.

“It’s a pantry,” he whispered, jumping and pulling himself up through the opening.

I hurried to stand beneath the trapdoor, looking up into the darkness after him.

“Maybe we should wait for Othura…” I whispered.

But even as I said it, I was already changing my mind. The sooner we could get in and take out Kortoi, the better. If we lingered down here, we might miss the perfect opportunity.

Charlie reached a hand down. I hesitated for an instant, then took it and let him pull me up.

We emerged in the middle of a small room filled with food. Bags of flour, hanging chains of sausages, shelves of bread loaves, racks of wine bottles, and sacks of peppers, onions, and potatoes surrounded us.

I eased the trapdoor shut and cut Charlie a glance, sending him a thought via the simnal. We Skrathan have a saying: beware the mission that starts easy.

His lips made a grim line, and he nodded. We’d be careful.

He stepped toward me, and for a second, I thought he was coming in for a kiss, and my heart tripped faster.

Instead, he reached past me and took an apron from a hook on the wall behind me.

He draped it over my head and put one on himself, too.

It might not be the greatest disguise, but if someone saw us, they might think we were kitchen staff rather than intruders—at least at first glance.

He reached into a flour bag, stuck a finger in it, and dabbed it on my nose with a teasing wink, completing our disguise.

I glared at him, smiling in spite of myself.

Together, we looked to the pantry door. I hadn’t gotten to fight in many real battles as a Skrathan before becoming Irska.

Still, I was experienced enough to know that at the start of any mission, there was a mental hourglass that tipped.

Sand was slipping through ours now, and with every grain that fell, the danger of being discovered increased. We dared not delay any longer.

Charlie handed me a ream of cheese and picked up a basket of carrots. Then, giving me a nod, he led the way out the pantry door.

Men and women in aprons just like ours bustled about, putting the finishing touches on dishes, dozens of which were laid out on a metal counter.

Nobody paid us any mind as we passed among them.

A set of swinging double doors stood at the far end of the room, and we made our way to them and peeked out the round windows.

Men in Admarian suits and women in formal gowns stood in groups, chatting. Kortoi, with his long, dark hair and flowing black robes, would have been easy to spot. But he wasn’t there.

“The president isn’t here, either,” Charlie said, clearly thinking the same thing I was.

I closed my eyes for a moment, using my dragon intuition. It was always strongest when it came to sniffing out prey, and it didn’t disappoint now. I nodded toward the far end of the large dining room, where an arched doorway opened up into a hallway.

“They’re over there,” I said. Setting down the cheese wheel, I grabbed one of the plates full of food, handing it to Charlie, then picking up one of my own.

“We can’t just waltz through that room full of diplomats,” Charlie hissed.

Before I could answer, a man in a white uniform and a chef’s hat came rushing up to us.

“What are you doing with those plates?” he demanded. “You’re not servers.”

“Aranum etas porthaeme tsamam,” I snapped at him. It was the first thing that had come to mind, a saying in old Maethalian—a derivation of the language of elves that meant, roughly, butt out and mind your own business.

The chef looked confused.

“For the Maethalian guest. President’s orders,” Charlie said with a shrug, and we both turned on our heels and walked out the double doors.

A few heads turned toward us as we made our way across the room, but even as they noticed us, they dismissed us just as quickly as a pair of lowly kitchen assistants.

“I think you pissed off the chef,” Charlie whispered as we walked.

“It’s what I do best.”

“What? Talking your way out of tricky situations?”

“No. Pissing off men,” I said with a smile.

We passed through the arched doorway and into the broad hallway, passing several doors on our left and our right. But there was no mystery which door we were looking for. Two black-suited bodyguards stood outside of it, watching us as we approached.

“Alright, how do you plan to piss these guys off?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t piss everyone off,” I said. “Sometimes I give gifts.”

“Who requested these—?” one of the guards started to ask, but before he could finish, I smashed him in the face with the plate of food. His head banged against the wall, and as it rebounded, I brought an elbow across his face. The man went down in a heap.

Charlie plated his guard in the face, too.

With one hand, he swiped the mashed potatoes from his eyes.

With the other, he went for his gun—but I was quicker.

I pulled the dagger from beneath my apron and brought it across his throat in one quick swipe.

Blood poured from the wound as he took a single step, then fell.

“Sophi in heaven!” Charlie hissed, staring down at him. “You didn’t have to kill the guy.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” I shrugged, and I shoved the door open.

Prelate Kortoi sat on a couch with a silver-haired man.

Both had their legs crossed and a teacup in their hands, and both looked up at us with matching expressions of surprise.

But I noticed instantly, perhaps with a flare of dragon intuition, that although Kortoi looked startled, he remained almost smugly unafraid. Alarmingly so.

To our left and right, a pair of Gray Brotherhood mages stood.

The one nearest to Charlie was already conjuring some sort of black, undulating force between his splayed fingers.

The other’s eyes were beginning to glow with fire.

Charlie leveled his gun and fired once. The shot caught the fire mage in the belly and dropped him instantly.

I whipped my dagger at the other one. It caught him on the left side of the chest, just below the heart, and he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping.

Charlie slammed the door shut behind us and locked it as I turned my attention to the prelate and drew my second dagger.

“Princess Essaphine,” he said amiably. “I would say I’m surprised to see you so far from home, but… I’m not.”