Page 9 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

My muscles tightened to run, but I was caught between the men; moving away from the Wielder would mean moving toward Goren. And I did not want to move toward Goren.

“Can you draw, my lady?” the Wielder suddenly asked.

I spun toward him, and he reversed to allow room for my overflowing skirts.

He looked a couple of years my senior, and, standing a whole head above me, with a powerful build and a golden, chiseled face, he should have made for an imposing figure.

But his champagne eyes were soft and sparkling, his full mouth still curved with that disarming smile.

“Excuse me?” I must have misheard him.

“You’re from Vereen,” he said, “the province of craftspeople. Are you an artist?”

“No.”

“Excellent. So, you’re unlikely to render my face from memory.”

“She’s a noble,” Goren said, with an odd note of significance.

“Well, we can hardly hold that against her.”

“She could—”

“Thank you, Goren.” The Wielder’s expression remained amiable, but his voice deepened with warning. “You may go.”

I angled sideways to glance between them, goose bumps prickling my nape as the tension thickened. Then Goren marched away, head stooped against the low ceiling.

And I knew who was in charge.

I was still exhaling when warm fingers brushed mine.

“Your hand.”

I snapped out of the Wielder’s reach, facing him fully in the same movement.

He paused, then retreated. Offered a gentler smile. “Forgive me. It was bleeding when you arrived.”

The bandage. The salve.

My brows furrowed. “You tended it.”

“I expected you wouldn’t want to bleed all over your dress. And we truly never intended to cause you injury.”

My stare hardened. People who didn’t intend to cause injury rarely ventured into kidnapping.

Straightening to my full height, I summoned the haughtiest look in my arsenal and asked, “Who are you?”

“Keil, my lady.” He sketched a perfect bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I regret the circumstances.”

“I doubt you regret them when you orchestrated them.”

His eyes flared—with surprise and a little amusement.

“Amarie,” I said. “And Garret. Are they—?”

“They’re back at your manor.” Keil leaned against the earthen wall and crossed his arms, the movement laced with easy confidence. “Your house manager is unharmed, but I hear the boy put up quite a fight for you.”

The boy. The others had called him that, too. Like the rest of Daradon’s citizens, my kidnappers didn’t know who the Capewells truly were.

Which meant they’d beaten Garret for sport.

My skin heated, my specter teeming near the surface. “Your cronies attacked him for trying to protect me. From what I heard, they enjoyed it.”

“Is that so?” Keil looked me over, contemplating. Then he said, with that infuriating smile, “I’ll tell my cronies to be quieter when discussing their unsavory pastimes.”

I clenched my fists. Keil’s quick eyes tracked the movement, but he didn’t so much as tense. Judging from the nicks and scratches across his matte black armor, he was a fighter as well as a Wielder. And I was... a walking meringue. He didn’t see me as a threat. Yet.

I lifted my chin. “Do you know what you’ve done by bringing me here? My father is the ruling lord of the most affluent province in the kingdom.”

“Then, may I suggest he invest in guards?”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to. Do you know why?

Because any fool knows that threatening a ruling family is the same as threatening the king.

And nobody escapes the king’s wrath.” I dropped my voice, leaned closer.

And though I hated myself a little for my next words, I said them without flinching.

“It’ll be worse for you, because of what you are.

The king will give you to his Hunters. They will poison you, and bleed you, and show you no mercy.

So if you’re half as smart as you clearly think you are, you’ll return me to my home before they make you wish you’d stayed in whatever hidey-hole you crawled out from. ”

A pause, to let his fear sink in. Then I stepped back. Waited.

Keil shouldered off the wall and unfolded his arms. “That’s quite a speech,” he said pleasantly. “I liked that last part especially, about the hidey-hole. Did you come up with it yourself, or does every noble learn to recite it for occasions such as these?”

I blinked. Though I wasn’t a fighter, I knew how to aim my words—where to strike for impact, where to make it hurt . The threat of the Hunters should’ve buckled any Wielder in Daradon. So why was he still standing?

“Is this a challenge to you?” I asked. “You want to see how much gold or land you can get from my father?”

“Ransoming nobles for their fathers’ lands...” Keil hummed. “I should have thought of that sooner. Now that you mention it, does it snow at your estate? I’m in the market for a winter home.”

I gawked up at him. The Capewells had slaughtered Marge for existing. I couldn’t imagine what they would do to a Wielder who’d committed kidnap and ransom. Keil was risking everything—his secret, his safety—and he was making jokes ?

“I hope a winter home is worth a punishment worse than death,” I said.

He chuckled. “I’d hardly call your company a punishment worse than death .” With that, he sidled past me, his body brushing my shoulder in the narrow space. “If you will, my lady.” He made a sweeping gesture, one powerful arm outstretched.

“Is that the way out?”

“If I told you it was, would you walk with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I planted my feet. “I’m leaving. Now.”

“As you like.” Keil continued down the passage. “When your father arrives, I’ll be sure to tell him you popped out for some air.”

I wavered. Even if I found the exit, Father was on his way with whatever ransom Keil had demanded. What if I escaped, only to leave him at the mercy of my captors?

No. Running wasn’t an option. I could be trapped here with Keil, or trapped alone.

At the thought of encountering Goren, I swallowed my pride and rushed after the Wielder.