“My point is that you don’t have to be afraid. You can stay on guard, hold that knife if you like, but you don’t have to worry about me, and you can take all the time you like to determinehow you feel. We’re going to need time to get you to a working portal. I might know someone who can help.” He wobbled his hand. “That will likely be for a price. My friend is a little more financially savvy than I am, and taking pleasure in the king’s frustration and rage won’t be enough for him.”
“How much? And how long might it take?” I set the cup down on the table and tested my weight on my formerly injured leg. Aside from a little tightness, the pain had all but vanished. As I mentally scanned my body, I noticed that the stiffness from the fall had faded as well. It hadn’t just been adrenaline masking it. If I’d drunk the clovefall whiskey, I might have credited it. Except then, there was the matter of my hand. I glanced at my palm and saw that no trace of the cut remained.
Olen tipped his head back as he drank, his throat bobbing. His gaze slid past me to the hall, then up to the ceiling, as though he were sorting through old memories hidden in the beams. “I don’t know, Hannah. Maybe a favor. Maybe something rare.” His mouth curved, but there was no amusement in the smile. More like concerned contemplation he was trying to hide. Something had him worried. “Let’s wait until the hounds have cleared off and gone back to the castle with their tails between their legs. You can rest until tomorrow night, and then we’ll find my friend. Days here are short lately, so you won’t have to wait long.”
Sleeping sounded like a great way to get caught. “Any chance we could move faster than that?”
“Hmmm. Well, not safely. I assume you want to keep the king from knowing what you’re doing? Most folks are loyal to him because they believe he has the Dusk Court’s best interests at heart. There might be a few who would help you, but they’re cautious.” His jaw tightened. “Especially these days.”
“Why especially these days?” I walked to the far wall and then back, keeping my eyes fixed on him as I examined my surroundings more.
“Well—” he started.
A heavy knock sounded like a fist to my ribs.
“Open this door. Now,” a familiar deep voice demanded.
My stomach dropped hard, as if the floor had vanished from beneath my feet.
Kai.
CHAPTER 10
Hannah
The king knocked again, harder, rattling the door in its frame and sending a puff of dust drifting down from the joist. The groaning sound went straight through me, and my breath hitched as if my lungs had forgotten how to work.
My gaze snapped to Olen, and my heart skipped a beat. I expected calculation, betrayal, or some flash of triumph. Instead, the color drained from his face, the easy warmth gone like it had never been there. His shoulders drew tight, and his eyes focused on the door.
Another blow landed, followed by the scrape of boots against stone. “Open this door. Now.”
Olen caught my wrist and steered me away from the firelight and back toward the narrow hall beyond the main room. As he walked, he placed his damp boots where my shoes had been, marring the prints. His voice dropped low, just above his breath. “Go to the kitchen and take the second door. It’s the larder. Don’t go upstairs because the boards squeak. Don’t make a sound. If his guard is with him, they’ll have surrounded the house. I’ll handle him.”
He pressed me back, and I didn’t fight. I had no clue what a fucking larder was. Guess I’d figure that out or get caught trying.I slipped down the hall, my rubber-soled shoes silent against the wood. My grip stayed tight on the knife as my pulse thundered in my ears.
“Olen! You will open this door, or it will be broken in.” Grouchy Butt’s shout cut through the house, followed by an even harder pounding on the wood.
The hounds howled farther away, unable to track me. The ash and stable trick had worked, so why was he here now? Could he follow me like a wolf tracking a rabbit?
Well, luck going sour was one thing I was used to.
The kitchen was dim and cold, smelling of dried herbs, old smoke, and the faint tang of iron. A solid table crouched at the center, scarred by knives and years of use, while hooks of bundled thyme and bay hung from the beams above. I crossed the space in three quick steps and slipped through the narrow wooden door that I hoped was the larder.
Thin slats and cracked plaster formed the walls, but there were tiny gaps in the inner wall between this space and the main living room. The faint glow of firelight provided enough light for me to see. The room was narrow and cramped with dry air that smelled of salt, grain, dried meat, and hanging herbs. Rough wooden shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, stacked with crates, sacks, and cloth bundles. The uppermost shelves held the least supplies, leaving enough space for me to squeeze in and hide if I could get up there.
I eased the door shut until the latch kissed wood without a sound. Darkness closed in at once, and the smell of grain and dried roots filled my lungs as I reached the thick wood shelves.
My muscles burned as I wedged a knee against a sack of grain and hauled myself up, shelf by shelf. The wood creaked softly under the strain, making my stomach twist as Kai kept pounding on the door. I worked myself stomach-down onto the highestshelf and breathed shallowly, then shifted until I had my entire body tucked into the narrow gap near the ceiling.
I turned my face toward a thin crack in the wall where the wooden frame in the plaster peeked through. Warm light bled in, painting the darkness with slashes of gold. Careful not to scrape against anything, I peered out.
Olen emerged from the hall and crossed the main room with deliberate slowness. His earlier easy manner had become rigid and strained. He reached the door and braced one hand against the wood as if steadying himself. Exhaling, he opened it with his shoulders sagging and his posture loose in a way that read as bone-deep fatigue.
“My king.” He dipped his head, assuming a respectful angle that bared the back of his neck. “You honor my poor home at such a late hour. How may I be of service? Is there some matter for which the surveyor himself is unable to provide aid?”
Sour Face stood on the threshold, his dark coat dusted with frost. His presence filled the doorway as if the house itself had drawn back from him. No guards flanked him, and no armored shapes crowded the step. Just him, alone, his eyes already cutting past Olen and into the room like blades seeking flesh.
He couldn’t have come alone. Maybe there were guards farther back I couldn’t see. That weird tugging in my chest returned, sharper and deeper this time.
