“Calm down, we still have a few advantages that buy us some time. Miranda will not leave the house again, for now. We’ll have a guard at her door. And make sure she has weapons hidden throughout the room, should she need them. It’ll be fine, Cicely.”
“It better be,” her mother warned.
“Between the pair of us, Graves won’t be able to get close,” he said, then he stared at Miranda. “And a guard for the window, I suspect.”
Miranda wanted to curl into her mother’s side and sleep for a week. She didn’t know what would happen next, but suddenly she was ten years old and perfectly content to let mommy and daddy handle everything. Sure, she would come back to her senses in the morning, but her eyes began to close as her parents rambled on. Her body had reached its limit, forcing sleep on her. She wasn’t about to let them shut her away in her room when she had come so far. But, at least, she knew Cordelia would be safe. That was enough for now.
-
When Miranda opened her eyes, it was nearly night again. She ventured from her room and found two guards waiting outside the door.
“Sorry, we’re not allowed to let you leave,” the first said, Miranda didn’t recognize her. She motioned to a tray set on aside table. “This was brought up for you, but you’ve been asleep all day.”
Jaw clenched, Miranda retrieved the food and slammed the door. A guard? Really? She bit into a piece of her roll as she located her guardian uniform. They were not going to keep her locked up like some princess in a tower. Miranda slipped on the pieces of her uniform with practiced precision as she shoveled the cold chicken and seasoned potatoes into her mouth.
She swiped the crumbs from her lips as she searched her bedchamber for weapons. Her father wanted her to be armed in case anyone got through his defenses, which suited her well enough. She tucked knives into hidden pockets—slip blades along her calves, dirk along her thigh, and an arsenal of throwing knives on her hips.
Miranda went to her window and went to pop the latch, but her eyes stopped on the large, heavy lock. “Honestly, like this would stop me.”
She fiddled with it for a moment, considered shattering the glass—but that would alert the guards at her door—before deciding the only option was to find one of the guest rooms.
Thankfully, her parents did not know about the passage leading to the spare room next door, or the one connecting that to Cordelia’s bedchamber. She got to her hands and knees, her memory of the opening in the wall was that it was much taller, but then, she’d been fifteen the last time she used it.
Crawling through to the adjacent room, she found it guard free. With a flick the latch on the window popped free and the glass swung inward. She stepped onto the ledge and peered down.
There was a tree near her window that aided in her coming and going, but here she’d have to scale the meager recess and ledges created in the uneven lay of brick—an aesthetic choice by the architect that she was infinitely grateful for in that moment.
Miranda paused, not sure what her plan was, except that sitting in her room was not an option. Her first thought was to seek out Devin. The idea had made her smile and her heart flutter, until she remembered that they were no longer working together. Or, rather, he no longer wished to work with her.
The happy flutter twisted like a blade and she harshly swiped away the brim of tears in her eyes. It had been a hopeless infatuation, anyway. Devin was never going to remain in her life, so better to end it sooner rather than later.
Sitting on the ledge, Miranda realized she had no plan. The information was still tucked safe in her pocket and she took it out to look over the looping characters of the illegible words. Then at the bottom she noted the address Kylin had mentioned. Looking at it now, the format was obviously an address, and the street name had been written out in common characters. Miranda pursed her lips. She also knew the Faery numbers through ten…
This wasn’t over. This address was her only lead. Cordelia was safe. But whatever Graves was planning would hurt more than her sister. This had been her mission, and while her motivations had changed, the end result was the same. She would stop Graves and see him properly behind bars where he could do no more harm.
Resolved, she swung her foot down to dig her toes into the first lip of exposed brick and the next, her fingers hooked into the cracks as she eased her way down. On the last step, when she lifted her foot to jump the last few feet, her boot slammed into something solid.
“Infernal blast it—”
“Devin?”
Devin opened his eyes to a full moon, drifting clouds, and a sense of pain sprouting from his…everything. His shoulder, in particular, was screaming at him. His memories shifted for a moment as he tried to recall what he had been doing before finding himself on his back in dewy grass.
Last he remembered, he drank a good deal. More than he usually required to limit his Aura Sight. He was trying to erase all the lingering reminders of Miranda. The scent of lilacs on his shirt—he’d thrown it into a corner. The scent of her arousal on his pants—he’d torn them off like they burned, afraid what the visceral scent would do to his already frayed senses. He fought to free his brain of each whispered moan and sigh that replayed when he closed his eyes.
Nothing worked.
She was everywhere.
And he’d been wrong. Not wrong in turning her away—it was glaringly obvious that he did not deserve her and so letting her go was the best thing he could do for her—but wrong to speak so harshly after her first time. There would be no peace for him until he assured her that she was not at fault.
He’d stumbled from his home more drunk than he’d been when his mother had passed. His addled brain had decided there was no time like the present to offer Miranda a most deserved apology.
But how did that lead to him on his back?
“Devin?”
Oh yes, in his attempt to find the servant’s entrance—not wanting to chance asking at the front door, afraid Lord Wildewould skewer him on the spot, even inebriated Devin had the sense not to push him on that score—Miranda’s boot had caught him in the face.
