“I will never get tired of watching you do that,” he says with awe.
“Party tricks, remember? I bet you could grow them if you tried.”
There’s so much raw power within him, if he can tap into it growing a few flowers would be easy.
Cal slides one of the eggs onto my plate. My mouth waters at the sight and I barely register his response. I’m too occupied suppressing the moan that nearly escapes my lips at the first bite of the perfectly cooked dish.
“I can’t. Trust me.” He fills the mug in front of me with a dark, aromatic liquid as I chew. “Klein may be a snake, but he did manage to decently stock the icebox and cabinets.”
“Captain Murphy, did you make me coffee?” I smile over the mug, steam wafting over my face as I grasp the mug with both hands. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to indulge in my favorite beverage again.
“I prefer the name you were calling out last night,” he smirks.
I savor the taste of the coffee on my tongue. I sip it slowly, pretending the warmth spreading through my body is from the bitter liquid and not from the intimacy of this moment. It has to be. There is no time left for this.
Cal, reading my discomfort, clears his throat.
"I brought in a bucket of water and your saddlebag. There’s no washroom, but there is a closet over there.” He points to a door opposite the bedroom. “Closet is a generous word for thatroom, but it’s private. The governors should be here soon. Wash up and I’ll keep watch.”
“Thank you.”
I wash down the last bite of eggs with a final sip of coffee. The last moments of whatever false normalcy this is masquerading as disappears with them. My heart aches with every glimpse of what might have been, the meals shared over laughter and smiles, the kisses and pleasures shared in the dark.
I force the emotion and the longing deep into the iron-clad box, latch the lock, and hide the key somewhere that even I can’t find it.
There’s a broken spring in the dilapidated settee that creaks every time I fidget. The worn cushions, once upholstered in a pastel butterfly motif, do little to comfort me.
The governors should have been here by now.
I trace what remains of the insects with my fingers, imagining what they might have looked like before a cruel world stole their beauty. What might they have been if this place hadn’t fallen into such disrepair?
Sweat slicks Cal’s brow despite the lack of fire in the chipped stone hearth. He won’t admit it, but he’s worried. The boards below his feet might turn to dust if he paces over them for much longer. His restlessness only increases my own anxiety.
They should have been here by now.
I unroll the floor plan of the palace’s main floor that Elias smuggled out of the archives. I commit each of the four entrances to memory, studying the path from the main gate to the throne room that will serve as my final runway.
“When Elias returns, we’ll have a better idea of how many troops Marks has stationed around the palace,” I say flatly.If he didn’t sell us out.“And Kieran will be able to tell if any of them are secretlyaevus,” I add.If he wasn’t captured.
Cal doesn’t speak as he continues his pacing. The sun is starting to set, darkening the small home and the mood within at the same time. I light the candles that adorn the weathered mantle, sending up a silent prayer to Arcasia to ask her protection on those who claim to be our allies.
The sound of approaching hooves echoes on the cobblestone street, the clunking of wagon wheels following. Cal’s posture goes rigid as he reaches for his ivory-handled dagger. Bodies shuffle in the dim light just beyond the door.
Too many bodies.
We’re expecting four governors, but eight figures move in the shadows created by the fading sun. I reach for the matching dagger strapped at my thigh and ready my magic for a fight.
Cal raises a hand in silent command as a hooded figure approaches the door. A pale fist appears from beneath a brown cloak before connecting with the door four times—one long knock followed by two short and another long knock.
A thin wooden door is all that separates us from eight allies or eight more foes-in-disguise.
Cal, blade drawn, moves slowly towards the door, flanked by my swirling shadows of dark magic. He opens it only a crack, just enough for the candlelight to illuminate the face of a dark haired man with piercing sapphire eyes.
“Sorry we’re late,” the Sapphire governor nods. “We picked up a few stragglers at the port.”
Cal opens the door to allow him to enter the safe house. Micah Porter sweeps a glance around the already cramped space before locking eyes with me.
“It’s going to be a tight squeeze in here,” he says, “but we can use all the help we can get.”
