Magda pauses, lifting a suitcase I’ve never seen onto the velvet padded window seat.
“The king’s. The Court’s, too.” Her tone is softer this time. She looks me over, but there’s no anger there, just suspicion. It softens when her eyes track to the bite mark at my neck. “You’re a smart girl. I like to think you may have a good heart, too. But what happened last night with those rebels spread through this kingdom like dandelion seeds in a windstorm. I don’t know what your true involvement was, but we both know … whatever you’re up to … you’re playing with fire.”
Draven enters the room.
“Magda, do not threaten Rune.” Draven’s tone brooks no argument.
She merely looks me over, throwing her nose into the air before departing, and I get a glimpse of activity bustling in our living space. Draven shuts the door, shaking his head, shoulders tense, and though his look is hungry it doesn’t seem to stick to me long. He tracks a path around the room as if he’s trying to distract himself from my very bare legs and my body wrapped in his discarded shirt.
“What’s going on out there?” I move to the closet, grabbing some of my own clothes while he lingers in the bedroom. He’s close enough to peek, and I don’t bother closing the door, instead turning my back to him. I know he wasn’t fully kidding when he said he was still angry. Hells, I deserve it. But it’s now my personal mission to soften him up a bit. I’m surprised by how much I miss the ease between us.
“An assassination attempt on the eve of leaving the kingdom tends to have the effect of a lot more guards getting assigned my way,” he informs me.
I glance over my shoulder as I drop his shirt to the ground, and his eyes dart away to the window. Grinning, I keep getting dressed, taking my sweet time.
He clears his throat roughly. “It took a lot of convincing last night for King Silas to agree we could still go to Alfheim.”
I’m relieved, grateful even. But last night was a blur of regret and shame and I have things to check on before we take off. “I need to be sure my friends are all right.”
“I took the liberty of doing so. They’re all safe,” Draven rattles off very quickly, determinedly looking out of the window, though I keep catching glimpses of indigo, every sneaking glance leaving a damning snag of color behind. “Everyone’s memories of the incident have been erased except for staff and guards. A few more arrests were made, and anyone suspected of involvement was transferred out of the Forge to the Destarion for questioning so we can find out more about this Ascension and its ties to the old uprising. This Ten Spires involvement will have Reapers rooting out their nests in the mortal lands.”
“Good. I hope they all burn.” I finish dressing, struggling to put on a thigh-high harness, a place to store both daggers and my deck of cards. Why are there so many damn loops on this thing?
“Gods, let me do it.” The brusqueness of his voice is at odds with the way he drinks me in. I move to stand in front of the window, and he helps me get the belt on at my waist, then kneels swiftly, but there his hands linger on my upper thigh, his movements slow and steady. There’s something about seeing him on his knees before me that threatens to break me, and I flex my hand to stop myself from tugging his dark hair.
The seducer is becoming the seduced. I force my eyes to the ceiling.
“Anything I need to know about Alfheim?” I ask.
“I doubt you’ve gotten any better at curtsying,” he snarks.
I flick one of his horns and he jerks his head aside, a grin tugging the corners of his spiteful lips as he swats my hand away.
“I’ll take that as confirmation. The elves are cruel, especially toward changelings and mortals. They won’t be forgiving, so just avoid eye contact with their king, be as deferential as that wicked mouth allows, and spare yourself dealing with him by leaving him to me.”
He secures the thigh holster, but his hands linger. Draven remains kneeling but still won’t look at me. “I found intelligence from Destarion that said a woman matching your mother’s description was transferred to the palace in Alfheim. And all children from the years of your brother’s Selection live with nobility. So, there’s a chance, if we play our cards right, we can safely find them and barter for their lives.”
My excitement rises without restraint, a dangerous hope filling me at the idea I might see my mother, possibly even my brother on this trip.
“I can fulfill at least a part of my promise and deal, possibly before the day is out.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. I run my finger up his throat, along the scratchy shaven slopes, until it’s crooked under his chin and he’s forced to look up at me. Despite the sunlight through the window those pupils blare, the color drifting from continents of blue ice toward purple fields of pining. “And if I help you find the wand, or the ring,andI play nice for the elven king, then I’ll be holding up my end, too, right?”
I cup his angular cheek, and he leans into the touch, lower lip snagging for a moment on the heel of my palm. He clenchesthose eyes closed. “I prefer you feral, love. But … yes. We search for my power, your family, and uphold our deal.”
As if that’s all this is. Like he’s not staring at me like he wants to take me right here.
I think about what he said about when the day comes that our deal is complete.Stay.
He tears himself from me. “Keep packing, we’ll be gone a few days. I’ll meet you in the living room.”
I stuff my suitcase quickly and pull my hair back with a pin shaped like a sword and moon. There are guards near the entrance, and Draven’s surrounded by a few students, so I hesitantly lope to his side.
Being social isn’t my strong suit, and I’ve only made the friends I have here because Ember chose me, and she’s so outgoing that everyone else just flocked to her. But here Draven stands among a group of friends, the same ones I’ve glimpsed with him at sparring, who were here the night Morgan attacked me.
Yet he’s barely spoken of them.
Draven listens to a tall druid with flawlessly smooth dark skin, his short hair in narrow twists that flare forward. He’s got bat-like wings, a mixture of strength and softness in their design. His other friends consist of a whippy female with a little crook in her nose, dusky skin covered in just as many tattoos as the rest. Her black hair is tied in a long, sweeping ponytail. She, too, has bat-like wings, but with a slightly different coloring, like red-hued sands.
