Whatever the monks have done to Linton, I have to hope it either wears off once we’re out of the stronghold or is somehow reversible. In his current state, he swings between being cute and exasperating. His body refuses to comply directly but with an impressive intensity when it does. The chaos is tempered but not entirely missing. While he is sweet as hell in his current mindset, I could do with the more directed mayhem I’m used to with him.
With his wings not quite able to keep up with the rest of him, Linton leans heavily on me, directing our route which is somewhat weaving, through the building and, not down to the cellars like I’d have expected, but back towards the kitchens.
“We can’t go in there.” I say to him as we approach using the back route.
“S’not in there,” Linton says with a yawn. “Here.” He stops next to a tapestry which, in hindsight, is in an odd position.
I lift it up and find nothing there.
“Are you sure? It couldn’t be somewhere else?”
Linton blows out a breath similar to a very drunk person who is exasperated at not being able to get their key in the door.He straightens up, puts one hand on the wall, and pushes the tapestry aside. For a moment, his hand slips, but then he rights himself and pushes against the stone.
I can hear voices and they’re getting closer.
“If this isn’t it, we need to go, Linton,” I say.
He grunts slightly, putting more pressure on the stone. I am absolutely certain he is wrong, when a crack appears and suddenly a door swings open and Linton falls through. I don’t hang around, rushing in after him and pulling the tapestry across to hide the entrance.
My mothman is face down on the floor, like he was when I first found him, steel knife in my belt and ready to fight whoever thought they could take Linton from me.
Instead, they were so sure he wasn’t going anywhere, he had been left entirely unguarded and entirely alone. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure he was going to get up, so perhaps they weren’t completely wrong about their decision.
I lift his legs out of the way and swing the door closed behind us. Ahead, flaming torches spring to life like I’ve flicked a switch. I’m not going to complain. It would be as dark as a grave otherwise.
“Are you okay?” I crouch next to Linton and, having pushed back a wing, I turn him over. He’s grinning wildly.
“I found it.”
“You did.”
An arm snakes around my waist, and I’m pulled down on top of him.
“Mate now?” he asks, his eyes huge and hopeful.
“When we’re free, Linton. We’re not out of the stronghold yet.”
He snorts, so I press a kiss to his lips. He tastes amazing, and his lovely biscuity scent fills my nostrils. I know he’s as horny ashell, so this probably isn’t helping, but Linton has been so damn cute through all of this, I don’t want to let him go.
How can an assassin mothman turn my stomach to jelly and my heart into a drum? I’m not sure, but Linton enjoys our kiss nonetheless, whining when I release him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I say, wriggling out of his grip. “Not long now.”
Reluctantly and with some difficulty, he gets to his feet, swaying into the wall where he catches his rasping breath for a second or two, his eyes closed.
When he opens them again, they seem clearer. I take his hand, entwining my fingers with his. Whatever path I thought I’d chosen, I was wrong.
My future is with Linton, regardless of what I have to do. I need him. I am not whole without him.
He pushes himself upright, and I become his makeshift prop again as we make our way down the passage which smells of old earth and dust. It hasn’t been used for some time.
“How did you know about this?” I ask him.
“Bluecaps are from the mines and caves. We like to tunnel,” he says. “Most of the fortresses, castles, and strongholds in the Yeavering have Bluecap passages.”
It hits me like a brick wall. This is the reason Bluecaps make such good assassins. They can get in and out of places in ways no one else can.
But it doesn’t make them the ideal fighters in a war. No wonder it killed so many.
