Page 20

Brynla

The man who could only be Torsten Kolbeck appears, followed by his scowling brother, Kjell.

Torsten stands behind Vidar’s chair and eyes me with quiet disdain, his chin raised.

He’s older than I expected, taller too, and lanky, with thick white hair and golden eyes like Andor.

His clothes are black and tailored to him; the decorative pads at his shoulders made of leather dragonscale give him the look of someone about to go to war and someone who commands the war.

I feel Andor’s foot press against mine under the table and I know he’s warning me to behave myself. I push my foot back against his, letting him know that I read him loud and clear.

And I’m not going to say anything if I can help it. I can see that Torsten is a man who would toss me in the dungeon without a second thought, and I’m not sure anyone in here would come to my aid. Above all else, I don’t want to put Lemi in harm’s way.

“So this is your prized thief,” Torsten says, glancing briefly at Andor with the same disdain he seems to give me. “I’m not sure what I pictured.”

“She didn’t look like that when she was brought in,” the uncle says; his lip wrinkles as he goes to sit at one end of the table and Torsten takes his seat at the other end.

“Well, then,” Torsten says gruffly, unfolding a napkin and placing it over his lap just as Belon comes over with the wine cask. “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, we can eat. Where is Steiner?”

“Right here, sir,” says a young man who quickly strides into the room.

Tall and skinny, the youngest Kolbeck has a distinctive jaw; thick, wavy black hair and bright blue eyes that light up briefly when he sees me.

But he’s a slip of a man, bordering on a boy, and his presence is so slight and quiet that he nearly disappears in front of my eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he sits down beside Solla. “I was—”

“Yes, yes, we know,” Torsten says, picking up his goblet. “Studying plants or the mind or the minds of plants.”

“Well, actually—” Steiner begins, but he is silenced by a sharp look from his father.

“Let us be mindful that we have company dining with us,” Torsten says, fixing his cold gaze on me now, reminding me of the water hawks that used to perch at the end of the docks in Lerick, searching the sea for fish.

They never hurried, they always took their time, and they always caught their prey.

“I’m sure our guest wants to listen to neither your science nor your magic. ”

“Why is she here, boy?” the uncle says to Andor, slurping loudly from his goblet. I try to hide the disgust on my face. “If she’s your prisoner, she should be in the dungeon. In chains. With only scraps to eat. Not sitting here like the rest of us.”

“Now, now, Kjell,” Torsten says, his tone mocking. “Andor has promised us he has a plan for her. Well, thief, has Andor filled you in on this plan, or has he failed to run that past you?”

“Brynla is—” Andor begins.

“I wasn’t asking you,” his father interrupts. “I was asking her. Well? Does the girl speak or do you do all the speaking for her?”

I clear my throat. “I prefer to speak for myself.”

“Good,” Torsten says. “Then we can agree on something to start. Tell me, Brynla”—he pauses, measuring me with his eyes—“what the blazes are you doing at my dining table?”

Andor sucks in his breath and I feel his eyes on me but I don’t dare look away from his father.

“Your son captured me while I was collecting eggs on the Midlands,” I tell him.

“Captured you, you say.” He arches a gray brow. “I would love to hear how my son would capture anyone. Poor boy can’t even catch a fish.”

His uncle snickers at the end of the table. No one else laughs.

“First he made me an offer, which I refused.”

“And the offer was?”

“That I stop stealing eggs for House Dalgaard and steal them for House Kolbeck instead.”

“And why did you refuse?”

I glance at Andor, his eyes intently focused on me, much like everyone else around the table.

“Because I don’t know Andor. Because I don’t know House Kolbeck.”

“Because you’re part of House Dalgaard.”

“No. I am not part of their house,” I say, unable to keep the sharpness off my tongue.

I know what he’s trying to get at. He wants to paint me as the enemy.

He wants an excuse to kill me here and now.

“My skills are for hire. Dalgaard happens to be the highest bidder. I have no connection to them otherwise, no allegiance.”

“And yet you said no to House Kolbeck.”

“As I said, I don’t know Andor. Better to trust the evil you know than the evil you don’t.”

Torsten’s smile is wry. “You’re taking a large risk trusting it either way.”

“Like I said,” I remind him, “I didn’t choose to come here.

I was taken by force. I might be at your dining table, wearing your daughter’s clothes and drinking your estate’s wine, but I keep being reminded that I am a prisoner in this house and that as nicely as I’m treated, there is no escape for me. ”

“Or your dog,” Kjell says snidely.

“Ah yes, my brother filled me in on our other guest,” Torsten says, leaning back in his chair slightly to eye Lemi by the fire. “Andor neglected to tell me you had a hound. I suppose it was his bleeding heart that let you take him.”

Andor clears his throat. “The dog is partly why Brynla is so successful.” Then his gaze narrows on me thoughtfully. “Perhaps the dog is the whole reason why Brynla is so good at what she does.”

I stiffen, the hairs rising at the back of my head. I manage to hold Andor’s gaze. “Lemi helps me. I help Lemi. He will never work without me, no matter how hard you try. He will shift to a place that you have never seen and he will never come back, not without me.”

In other words, Don’t you fucking dare try to take my dog away from me .

“So you take her dog away, and then what do you have?” Kjell says, putting his goblet down with a loud thunk . “Just a purple-haired whore, with a stink you’ll never be able to wash off, no matter how much soap you use.”

Andor erupts from his seat and moves fast, so fast that he’s a blur until he appears behind his uncle, a sharp knife in his hand, the shining blade pressed against Kjell’s throat.

“Andor!” Torsten chides him.

“Prisoner or not, you will treat Ms. Aihr with the respect a lady deserves,” Andor says into his uncle’s ear, his voice seething. “Do you understand?”

His uncle scoffs, seemingly not concerned, until Andor presses the knife in harder, enough to draw a thin drop of blood.

“Andor!” Torsten says, getting to his feet. “Control yourself, for the sake of the gods!”

“Andor,” I whisper to him. “Please.”

My nonexistent honor is not worth it.

Andor doesn’t move for a moment, just breathes heavily, his face frozen in a sneer. Then he grunts and straightens up, releasing Kjell. He walks around the table and back to his chair beside me, avoiding my gaze.

Bloody blazes, is this what dinner at the Kolbecks’ is usually like?

“All right, sorry for the delay.” Margarelle’s voice rings out, interrupting the silent tension in the room.

She bustles inside with Belon, both of them holding platters of steaming-hot food.

My stomach immediately growls but as the food is being dished out, I can’t stop thinking about what Andor did.

He can’t care that much about how I’m treated—it must come down to his volatile relationship with his uncle.

Belon spoons a stew of chicken and beans onto my plate, and the urge to eat is overwhelming. It smells delightful, the chicken browned and crisped at the edges of the skin, the beans and tomatoes rich in color and seeming perfectly spiced, making my mouth water despite the current circumstances.

“Don’t be shy,” Torsten says to me in his dry tone. “We haven’t poisoned yours.”

Though he doesn’t say it, the word yet is implied.

And everyone at the table is staring at me, as if daring me to try it.

Solla’s eyes are bright and inquisitive, Vidar’s cold and calculating, Steiner’s perplexed, Kjell’s angry as he presses a cloth to his neck, Torsten’s full of haughtiness and disdain, and Andor, well, I suppose he’s still trying not to look in my direction.

Even Margarelle and Belon have paused by the door, watching me intently.

Fuck it. If I’m going to die by poisoned food, at least it will have been a good meal.

I have a bite. As expected, it tastes delicious.

“And?” Torsten goads. “Is it good enough for an Eslander? I can’t imagine the lot of you surviving on anything more than desert bugs.”

I paste on a smile and nod at Margarelle. “Compliments to the chef. It’s very good.”

Margarelle beams at me and leaves the room. At least someone here seems happy.

“You’re from Esland?” Steiner asks between mouthfuls. “I must have missed the memo about an Eslander coming to visit.”

“We all missed the memo,” Vidar comments under his breath.

“I’ve heard that the Eslanders don’t let anyone leave the continent,” Steiner goes on, talking fast now that he doesn’t have food in his mouth. “Were you smuggled out? Did Andor smuggle you out?”

“No,” I tell him, having a sip of my wine and feeling it bolster my confidence. “I live in the Banished Land. The Dark City. I am free to go where I choose.”

Steiner’s brow crinkles, his mouth dropping slightly before it curves into a grin. “You’re a Freelander? That’s even better.”

“What did you do to get yourself banished?” Vidar asks.

“I escaped the Daughters of Silence,” I tell him.

“Impossible,” Kjell says, slapping his blood-soaked cloth on the table. “No one who enters the Daughters ever leaves.”

“Well, I’m sure you must know more than I,” I tell him, wondering if he’s perceptive enough to pick up on the sarcasm.

“So then what did you do to get yourself in the Daughters of Silence?” Vidar asks over his goblet, cold green eyes observing me with discernment now.