Damien crossed his arms and tipped his head with a grin. “Your charge, the baroness, does.”
“I don’t trust her judgment either.”
Much worse instinct.He frowned, liking her a little less. “That is unfortunate.”
The guard had taken responsibility for Damien, and in turn his dog, Kaz, once the painful meeting with Amma’s parents—hernobleparents—had come to an end. Tia collected multiple guards, though notably only ones wearing the tree and root crest rather than that lion-fish, on her long march with him through the Faebarrow keep. He was brought to a set of rather nice quarters, preferable to a cell he had to remind himself, where she instructed the guards to remain posted outside, which wasn’t quite so different from a cell after all.
The skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “You will not leave this set of rooms without an escort, you will not request permission to leave these rooms from anyone but myself, and you willnotsee Lady Ammalie without my presence.”
Damien would have been amused by how ironic her commands were if he were not instead imagining the multitude of ways he could break each of her ridiculous rules, not to mention her bones, but then shrugged. “Fine. But I can’t control what Amma will do.” Which was of course both a lie and not.
“And you will call her Lady Avington,” Tia growled, a hand going to her hilt.
“Of course, my apologies.” Damien turned his back to her, taking a few steps deeper into the room. It was a sizable parlor with stuffy, white furniture, an already roaring fire, and a wall of four stained-glass windows depicting a liathau tree during each season which of course meant quite a lot of pink. Kaz had already trotted in and jumped up on a couch, testing its bounciness. At least someone was having a good time. “So, I am your prisoner then?”
Tia clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You’re no one’s prisoner, I’m simply placing you under a short surveillance to keep the family, this keep, and Lady Ammalie safe, as is my duty.”
That didn’tnotsound like imprisonment.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Ah, so it’syourjob I’ve been doing then?”
A vein in Tia’s forehead pulsed, a nerve so easily struck, but then with her charge missing for a whole moon or more, he supposed she almost certainly would be on edge. And it hadn’t really been her failing Amma had slipped past her—the baroness was a very good trickster, after all.
Damien sighed. “Apologies, again. I do appreciate your and that of the Avington’s hospitality. It has just been an…arduous journey.”
“Obviously, if you were with Ammalie,” said Tia quietly through grit teeth. “She is not always the paragon of virtue she plays at.”
Damien knew there was nothing he could say to that which wouldn’t get him into more trouble with the guard, so he kept his mouth shut.
“You will have meals, clothes, and anything else you request, within reason, brought to you. The Avingtons will insist upon your presence at this celebration of theirs as well, so if you would deign to stay here through at least tomorrow night, I would be appreciative. After that, if you prove yourself trustworthy, you will be free to move about the keep or take your leave of this place, if you so wish.”
Damien nodded, and the guard went to depart, but then paused before opening the door.
“I must stress,” she said, voice lower, “Lady Ammalie does not need…this.” She gestured vaguely at where he stood.
Damien looked down at himself then back up. “And whatdoesthe baroness need?”
Tia snarled, jaw hardening. “Structure, theology, guidance.” She took the door handle, but hesitated. “But she has a very, very soft heart, one unchanged since she was too young to even speak, and she would do anything for this place. She does not need that to be ruined.”
Tia finally swung open the door, snapping at the guards outside to stand at attention.
Once alone, Damien threw back his head, let out a guttural sigh, and collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Raising his arms straight upward, he called on the arcana swirling inside him, the noxscura that had been prickling just beneath his skin and begging to be released. It clawed out of his fingertips in wisps of smoke, and he sent it across the room to its farthest corners, sweeping over everything until he was surrounded by a dark haze. The arcana pinged a handful of magicked objects, the fireplace, the glass of the windows, the washbasin and tub in an attached room, but there was nothing illicit here, nothing that posed a danger or could be used to watch him. The Avingtons were, apparently, more trusting than most. That was probably one of their biggest problems, though particularly odd that it didn’t seem to extend to their daughter.
He dropped his hands back onto his chest, spent. The ceiling high above was covered in tiles, copper and golden leaves carved out on them, and as if he were staring up at the sky through tree branches, the small spaces between the leaves were painted a shade the slightest bit duller than the blue of Amma’s eyes.
No, not Amma, Lady Ammalie Avington, Baroness of Faebarrow and betrothed to that ridiculous man emblazoned with that stupid lion-fish crest on his chest.Betrothed. And she’d been begging Damien to kiss her just the night before! He’d found so much out about her in such a short time, he realized he had really only known her for a few weeks, and the two had been at odds nearly the entire time. He scoffed, thinking of how innocent she had pretended to be, how sweet, how—
But shewasthose things, wasn’t she? When she had chastised him for knocking the pastry from the hungry child’s hand, when she had wanted to help the possessed, accused man in Elderpass, when she had negotiated their release from the elves. No matter how many libraries she broke into, how many secret titles she had, no matter how many mystery fiances—though hopefully it was just the one—she was still Amma, the woman who had given the draekins every copper in her purse, who had said infernal arcana was no different than any other kind, who had drunkenly told him she thought he was capable of love and begged for his lips. And she was still the girl who had bandaged his hand when they met because, as she said, it was just the right thing to do.
“What are we doing, Master?” Kaz’s watery voice was even more urgent as it popped up just over Damien’s head. When he opened his eyes, the imp was as demonic as ever, hovering above him, red, leathery wings flapping as he hung onto the arm of the couch.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” He waved the imp away, and the creature whined, zipping across the room to peer out a smaller window.
“This is scalable!”
“We’re not sneaking out the window. And keep your voice down.”
Kaz huffed more quietly and scurried back to sit in a ball and stare at him. Wonderful, an audience would certainly help him think.
