Shea snorted. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you tell them.”
“You wouldn’t do it for me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She scoffed. “No, Warlord. That’s your job. You wanted the responsibility; now, you’ve got it. Besides, I doubt they’d listen to me.”
His lips tilted up in a half smile, his eyes lightening. “I don’t know. Caden and Braden tell me you handled their grab for power after my disappearance beautifully.”
Her hands flexed against his chest, reminded of a time when he’d almost died. Had he been a second slower or hesitated for even a moment, he would have been lost to her. It was the first real glimpse she’d had into how he must feel every time she risked her life. It had given her something to think about.
“That was more blind luck than anything, and if you hadn’t turned up as promptly as you did, I’m sure I would have lost that battle very quickly,” she said in a light voice, trying to gloss over the negative feelings the reminder engendered.
The soft look on his face said she didn’t fool him, but he was willing to humor her.
“I think you’re too critical of yourself.” In a swift change of subject, he released her and gave her a teasing smile. “Your pathfinders don’t seem so very scary so far.”
“You think so?” she asked, grabbing the small bag she’d dropped at the foot of the bed and setting it on a small table in the corner of the room. There wasn’t much in it, just a few changes of clothes and various small weapons such as daggers.
She pulled out a clean pair of pants and shirt and set them aside. Next, she pulled out the book of beasts she carried with her everywhere. She made a mental note to jot down a few of her observations about the bashe before she forgot them. If her father was right and mythologicals were really back, it meant they would need every scrap of information they could get their hands on.
Last, she drew out a palm-sized compass. It wasn’t much to look at, small and beaten, dents and nicks in the metal. It was old, very old, and a memento given to her by her father when she’d passed the final test and joined the ranks of the pathfinders. She’d carried it with her on missions ever since. Even after her fall from grace.
As she placed it on the table, the sight of it made her heart hurt. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before she straightened.
That reminded her of something she needed to do before they could truly relax in this room. Giving Fallon a darkly significant look, she continued their conversation. “Give it time. They like to lull you into a sense of complacency before they strike. Make it through dinner and then tell me whether you think they’re scary.”
His eyes were watchful as she turned and paced along the edges of the room. He let her take the lead, content to watch from the middle of the room as she checked for drafts that might be a sign of a hidden passage. She held her hand up to the stone, moving carefully along the edge, watching for gaps or holes.
This place was old. Like the kill holes from before, it contained many defenses, not all of them so readily apparent. The walls were riddled with secret passages and spy holes. She’d explored more than a few of them as a child. Some were known by all in the Keep. Others, she’d discovered on her own or with her cousin at her side. She greatly suspected there were still more that only a very select few knew about.
She paused as cold air hit her hand, making a mental note of the placement. It could just be this old place settling. It wasn’t exactly air tight, and the draft could be from a crack in the mortar. Still, it paid to be careful.
“You think so little of me,” he said, noticing where she’d stopped. He dipped his chin down and gave her a sinful smile that would fool anyone who might be watching from a spy hole. “I doubt anything your people can throw at me will be worse than some of the all-clan banquets I’ve had to sit through.”
Shea smirked and continued. “Worse than a sharie?”
She’d never sat through an all-clan before, but she had been forced to listen during the sharies. Sharies were basically town hall meetings where the elders of each clan aired their grievances and tried to come up with solutions. They were long, boring affairs that usually ended with Shea wanting to tear her hair out.
“During those, you rarely have to worry about knives in your back or people coming to blows,” he complained.
“Here, you can expect to wage war with words. If they come at you, it’ll be under the cover of dark while your attention is focused elsewhere,” Shea said with a crooked, humorless grin. “I’d take your all-clans over what we’re about to do any day.”
“Would you care to place a wager on it?” Fallon asked with a taunting smile.
Shea paused and shot him a glare. Last time she’d wagered against him, she’d lost. She wasn’t sure she wished to embark on another bet so soon.
She finished the circuit and met him in the middle of the room. Before she could figure out how to tell him what she suspected without any potential watchers overhearing, he picked her up in an effortless move and tossed her on the bed.
Before she could do much more than let out an undignified squawk, he landed next to her, trapping her with his leg. He grinned down at her, his gaze playful as he twined one hand with hers.
Well, this was one way to ensure they weren’t overheard with no one the wiser. Given how close they were, they could have an entire conversation in whispers with no one suspecting they were doing anything other than canoodling. You could plan an entire war this way as long as you weren’t shy.
One hand slipped under her shirt and skated across the soft, sensitive skin along her waist. She wiggled, a delicious feeling stealing through her body at his soft touch.
“There are at least three spy holes,” she said in a soft voice as she nuzzled Fallon’s neck. Her breath caught as he touched an extra-sensitive spot.
He turned his face into hers and breathed against her lips. To any onlookers, it would look like they were sharing a passionate kiss. In reality, he whispered a question. “Where?”
She slid one leg around his hip and wiggled against him experimentally, feeling a wicked charge as he hardened against her. “One’s in the first spot I stopped; the second is behind the tapestry on the wall. The last is near the floor a few feet to the right of the fireplace.”
