A union made under threat is not holy.
So why does Kodiak’s mouth feel like sin?
A delicious sin.
Oh, Father.
I hurry to the parlor, my mind a blur. The room is thick with cigar smoke and laughter. When Joseph spots me, his expression tightens just slightly.
“Well?” he asks. “Our guest has been attended to?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, dipping my head. “But Joseph, he said something you should hear.”
He waves a dismissive hand, attention fixed on the men debating across the room. “Later.”
“No,” I press, lowering my voice. “It was about money.”
That earns his full attention. Of course it does. I knew it would. He excuses himself from the circle of men and leans close, his genial mask slipping. “Money?”
I clasp my hands to keep them from trembling. “It seemed like a riddle of some kind. He said there was a trove. Somewhere hidden, but not a secret. Worth more than any prize, he said.”
Joseph gives a sharp, humorless laugh. “So the patient spins tales now? Tells riddles like Rumpelstiltskin?”
My pulse kicks hard, but I hold fast to the ruse. “He wouldn’t say more to me. Only that he’d speak the rest to you.”
Joseph’s mouth twists, though not in amusement. He studies me a moment longer, his hand resting on the back of a chair as if weighing whether to bother. Then he gives a curt shake of his head. “Not now. The guests require attending. If he’s still telling tales once our guests depart, I’ll hear his ramblings then.”
I bite my lip, lowering my lashes. “He made it sound urgent.”
Joseph raises an eyebrow. “Urgent how?”
“I—I don’t rightly know.” I wring my hands, feigning confusion. “He only said it was worth more than any prize. He swore the rest was only for you. What do you think it means?”
His jaw flexes as he dismisses my question with a wave of his hand. Gripping the chair, he appears to wrestle with the offer, then at last he gives a short nod. “Very well. I’ll see him. But mark my words, if he’s trifling with me, I’ll know it.”
My stomach turns liquid, but I’m careful to keep my face composed.
He brushes past me, his smile snapping back into place for the benefit of the gentlemen in the parlor. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he says easily. “A private matter requires my attention.”
With sharp strides he’s off, and I follow a pace behind, my hands clasped before me to hide their shaking. What have I done? What will Kodiak do?
The noise of the parlor fades as we move down the corridor toward the exit, into the sunshine, and along the cobblestone path. Each step closer makes my stomach twist tighter.
Once inside Kodiak’s door, he glances back at me. “You stay here,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
Joseph pushes the door open.
Inside, Kodiak stands by the window, one arm braced against the sill, chains rattling softly as he turns. Sunlight slips over the planes of his face, and for a breath, I think I see the faintest curl of a smile.
Joseph steps in, closing the door behind him.
I press my back against the wallpaper, the hush of the corridor wrapping around me. Muffled voices bleed through the door—faint, indistinct. I can’t make out the words, only their rhythm. The slow build and break of cadence. Their voices rise, and I hold my breath. I think of the distance to the inn across the yard, through thick wood walls and shuttered windows. The guests won’t hear a thing. No one will.
I inch closer to the door, every inch of me strained with listening.
Something shifts in their voices. An edge now. A warning. A chain yanked, hard. It snaps loud against the bedframe. A grunt. Furniture scrapes. A sudden thud.
