The library doesn't feel private anymore. But at least Joss will protect me. She knows everything about everyone—it's what makes her so good at her job.
So why do the shadows keep pulling me away from where she stood?
My light magic flares again, painting golden spots on the ceiling. I'm exhausted from healing Arthur—my legs feel unsteady and there's that particular headache behind my eyes that means I pushed too hard. Two nights until the new moon. Two nights to figure out how to save Arthur's guild and my own life.
I pick up Tooth's rabbit book. There's a note in the margin: "The rabbit was scared but did the right thing anyway. Important lesson."
Yeah, Tooth. It really is.
The morning light shifts, and somewhere in this house, someone knows exactly where I'll be standing in an hour. Knows which stairs I'll take. Which cup I'll choose for tea.
But I have protectors now. Yarrow broke someone's face for insulting me. Tooth's learning to read while guarding my conversations. And Joss will keep me safe.
The shadows writhe at that thought, pulling harder at my sleeves.
Two nights.
We'll figure it out. We have to.
After all, Arthur ate the jerky before he left, and his boots finally fit properly, and that has to count for something.
Chapter 23
The best part about waking up in Ruvan's bed is getting to watch him dress, even though I spend half the time worrying about his eating habits.
I prop myself up on one elbow, absolutely staring because forty-one looks ridiculously good on him. Not in that never-worked-a-day way some lords have, where you suspect they've never lifted anything heavier than a wine glass. More like one of those really good kitchen knives that just gets better with use. Sharp where it needs to be, worn smooth at the handle, completely reliable even if you forget to oil it properly. Which reminds me, I need to oil the kitchen knives.
He pulls on his trousers and I can count his ribs, which means he definitely skipped dinner again. The man has abs at forty-one, which is frankly unfair to the rest of us, but also he needs more carbohydrates. The scar along his ribs is doing that shiny thing in the morning light—the one from that business in the Tangles that he won't talk about. I've memorized all his scars by now, which sounds creepy when I think about it too hard, so I don't.
"Two of the former Copper Hands got caught stealing food from the kitchens last night," he says, fastening his belt. His fingers move with that particular grace that comes from twenty years of lockpicking, and honestly, watching him handle buckles shouldn't be this interesting. "Guild law says they lose a hand for theft."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I once watched Quarrel try to pickle eggs in brandy." I pull his pillow against my chest, mainly because it smells like him and I'm becoming one of those people who sniffs pillows, apparently. "They're stealing food because they're scared it'll disappear. Have you seen how they eat? Like someone's going to snatch their plates away. Terrible for digestion."
"The law is the law, Olivia."
"The law is stupid if it doesn't account for people being terrified. Also, have you checked if they're getting enough iron? I bet they're all anemic." I watch him button his shirt, covering up all that nice skin that definitely needs more sun. "Make them cook for a week. Full kitchen duty, all the meals. They'll learn the food isn't going anywhere, everyone gets fed properly, and honestly, have you tasted what Splice considers seasoning? The man thinks salt is spicy. We need the help."
He pauses, shirt half-buttoned. "That's... actually quite clever."
"It's common sense. Cutting off someone's hand just means they can't chop vegetables properly, and then where are we? Eating poorly-diced onions, that's where." I flop back against the pillows, which are silk and probably need special washing. "What else? You've got that line between your eyebrows."
"The Brass Hands want compensation for our expansion into their territory."
"Give them the building on Crayfish Lane. The one that smells like rotting cabbage. Oh, speaking of which, do we still have cabbage? I want to make that soup—sorry, focusing. Give them the smelly building."
"Why would I—"
"Make a big show of how valuable it is. Act like it pains you. They'll think they've won something important and spendsix months trying to figure out why you wanted it. Meanwhile, they're stuck with a building that smells like dead vegetables."
The corner of his mouth twitches—his version of hysterical laughter. "And the River Guild wanting access to our canal routes?"
"Charge them in information instead of coin. They know everything that moves through the waterways anyway. Might as well make it official. Also, you need to eat actual breakfast today. Not that awful bitter tea you pretend is food. Real breakfast. With protein. And vegetables. When's the last time you had a vegetable that wasn't garnish?"
"I eat."
"When I put a plate directly in your hands and stand there until you finish it. That's not eating voluntarily."
He crosses to the bed, leans down to kiss me. He tastes like that awful tea already, which means he's been up for at least an hour without eating anything solid. The man's going to get an ulcer.
