The baroness smoothed Amma’s hair back away from her face. “And, darling, if you’re cattle, you’re the prettiest, little cow out in the field.”
“Mother,” Amma groaned up against her, “that’s not funny.”
“Come now.” She tipped her head up to meet her eyes, smiling and sincere. “It is alittlefunny, isn’t it?”
Amma’s jaw tightened, and then she gave in and nodded.
CHAPTER 32
A LESSON IN VILLAINY
Damien did not like being told what to do. He liked even less being told what to do by some shiny-armor-wearing, holy-weapon-wielding, punchable-face-having fuck of a marquis. And to be told what to do by said fuck through the summons of an ignoble guard without an ounce of consideration for his station and an incredibly stupid mustache? Well, that just bloody pissed him off.
But Damien dutifully followed the brusque Brineberth guard through the halls of Faebarrow keep, compelled by both his desire to play along with Amma’s charade and to get a bead on the man she was supposed to marry. He did not want to acknowledge the fact that he really had no other choice.
The sun no longer lit the halls, but free-standing candelabras placed in alcoves and arcane stones set into the walls gave off a warm glow on the creamy marble. The keep was still busy for early evening, another contrast to his in Aszath Koth, but the busyness here was full of militarized troops.
Through a number of wide corridors, Damien was led into a different wing of the keep where it was quieter, and he recognized a specific stained-glass window from Kaz’s jaunt as a rat, passing the hall Amma’s chamber had been down, knowing she was no longer there. Tia was posted at the hall’s head, clearly unaware her charge had slipped away again. She caught Damien’s eye as he went by, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes, but rather than be disgusted, she seemed curious.
Damien gestured silently to the Brineberth guard leading him then shrugged, giving her a baffled look. The last thing he wanted was for that woman to think he was in league with these idiots.
Another hall took them to a set of double doors with carvings inlaid all along their wooden frame, liathau he would have to guess, at the way the wood appeared to still be growing. Damien took a quick glance down the crossing hall each way. There were only Brineberth soldiers here, and Brineberth banners hung on the walls. If not for the liathau wood, there would be no sign this were Faebarrow’s keep at all.
But there was one man who was not a guard, robed and vaguely familiar. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and there was a slight recognition there. He carried a thick book down the hall, and then stepped into another room, and Damien recalled from where he knew him—the man who had been in the library and demanded access to the restricted section.
Damien did not have a moment to think on that, though, as his escort knocked. In the chamber he’d been brought to, Cedric Caldor stood before a desk, waiting. His eyes locked onto Damien, and the blood mage took note of the dead look he had been boring into the door before he had entered. It was wiped from his face in a fraction of an instant, replaced with a warm, welcoming grin, but Damien had seen the man’s cold expectation for him to arrive, and the displeasure at whatever was about to happen.
There was a heavy thunk as the door closed after Damien stepped in, his escort shut out on the other side.
“Day Ravenheart,” said Cedric as if they were old friends, holding a hand out in invitation. Damien had almost forgotten the silly name he’d been given, but it did make him grin at the memory of Amma coming up with it, and that injected some much-needed sincerity into the hateful meeting.
“Marquis Caldor.” Damien nodded at him, taking a slow step forward and glancing about. The chamber was a makeshift receiving area and study, but there were doors at the back of it that would lead to more rooms. While the whole keep was well decorated—provided that bywell, one meant in the style of too many flowers and pastels—this room felt more opulent. Faebarrow was coming to be known to Damien for its reverence for flora and the soft nature of things, but nothing here seemed very organic, instead with dark, heavy furniture and weaponry hung on the walls, so out of place. Except Cedric, of course, who had made himself right at home.
“I’ve called you here to extend my gratitude for your service to Faebarrow and to me, personally. The baroness has such a hold on so many hearts here, and losing her would have been difficult to weather.”
Damien grunted as he watched the marquis bow his head, eyes closed and hands brought together as if in prayer, but the whole thing felt off. Damien’s eyes darted about the chamber once more, waiting for him to be done with…whatever this was, and then he cleared his throat. “You are welcome?”
The marquis seemed to take his words as permission to stand fully again, the deferential look replaced with a smarmier grin, and he leaned back against the desk. “But I must tell you, my gratitude is not the only reason I requested a meeting.”
Here it comes, thought Damien, taking the man in fully. Cedric clearly put effort into his appearance, and he would have been quite attractive if not for the…too much of everything. His blond hair swooped a bit too much in front, his satiny tunic glinted a bit too much in the candlelight of the room, and his shit-eating grin wrapped a bit too far around his stupid fucking head. They were of matched height, but Cedric had a thicker build with broader shoulders and less of a neck. He wouldn’t be as fast or agile as Damien, but there would be more strength behind his blows if he could land them.
“I must know more about the man who rescued Lady Ammalie.” Cedric’s speech was even unlikable, too emphatic to be sincere. “From where do you hail? And from whom?”
“Elderpass. A bastard son of the Stormwing family, or so I’m told. Mother’s dead.” He lied as easily as Cedric did, but better.
“And your line of work? Are there so many damsels in distress that you find the pay steady?” Cedric laughed too loudly at his own, stupid joke, especially considering the distress his own damsel had just theoretically been in.
“Trouble finds me,” Damien said, less of a lie this time before dipping back into the untruth, “and I profit from it when I can.”
Cedric cocked a thick brow, grin widening on his boxy jaw. “So, you’re a freelance do-gooder then? Not in the ranks of Elderpass’s defenders?”
“I like to travel,” said Damien flatly.
He pushed off the desk, voice lowering. “Been all over the realm, have you? A man of your profession must have quite a lot to tell! Or, rather, leads, as it were, on any evil that has yet to be flushed out. There is a bounty, you know, and I have King Archibald’s ear—I’m one of his chosen.” At this, he laughed a bit, and Damien wanted to carve the smug look off the marquis’s face. “Any information that is provided to the crown and proves truthful on the whereabouts of undesirable creatures can be quite profitable. Any dangers or threats we should be looking into?”
Damien did know the exact location of about a hundred and a half undesirables. In fact, he had one in his pocket. “I come across very little that is threatening, actually. Nothing that I can’t take care of myself.”
Cedric stared at him a long moment, smile faltering, and then he broke into a single, loud laugh. “Well, of course you do!” He clasped a hand down on Damien’s shoulder and gave him a shake. “But it does bring up the true crux of why I’ve brought you here, Sir Ravenheart. I must know what took Lady Ammalie and how you came to liberate my bride from that evil.”
