“What makes you say that?” I ask curiously.
Sebastian gives me a quizzical look as we stop at the garden's entrance. “Good day, Princess.”
Taking note of his rather cold departure, I nod, lowering myself into a curtsy as he departs. If there is a limit to myintrusive questions, I found it. Sebastian’s usually friendly demeanor turned as soon as I inquired about the rebellion.
I reenter the castle, poking my head into one of the dimly lit rooms I discovered while wandering around. It’s empty. I slink inside and rummage through old drawers and shelves, causing specks of dust to stir into the air. I pull brittle parchment from the desk. It’s a little rough, but it will work. I open the cabinet behind me, and the hinges creak so loudly I flinch.
My gaze snaps to the door as I tensely wait to see if someone discovers me. When no one enters the room, I continue my search, finding nothing but empty ink bottles. My frustration grows with each empty shelf until, at last, I see what I am looking for—a quill with a fresh bottle of ink. Grabbing it, I swiftly exit the study and return to my room.
Placing the parchment on the bedside table, I dip the quill into the ink and write in my family's cipher. I can disguise the coded message as a shipment update of livestock, so that it wouldn’t be apparent to the naked eye, but my brother would understand. I plan out each word carefully so I can weave the message into the page, my pen flowing quickly across the parchment.
The inside of my right wrist burns like a brand, as if the magic is thwarting me directly—the muscles in my hand contract. I let out a pained cry as I grip my wrist with my left hand, forcing myself to continue writing through the pain. My fingers shake as wobbly letters form. The mark is like a snake coiling tightly around my arm, moving upwards to my shoulder. Eventually, it constricts so tightly that I lose feeling in my arm.
I drop the quill, unable to take the excruciating pain. Sharp jolts of pain shoot into my fingertips like tiny lightning bolts as tears gather in my lashes. My breath is ragged as I wait for the sensation to fade, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I cannot betray Wrath, not directly, no matter how veiled my attempts. Swearing under my breath, I take the parchment and toss it into the hearth to burn. I must be more creative with my plans if I want to find a way out of Khalessor.
Pushing my frustrations aside, I pack the pastries and work apron away. I sling my satchel over my shoulder and head out for the afternoon. I exit the castle and stroll down the busy streets, making a stop to deliver the pastries to Zinnia on my way to work.
She gasps. “For me?”
I smile. “Yes. They made extra at the castle. I brought you some.”
“Thank you!” Zinnia takes a bite. “Ilovescones.” She lets out a sigh of approval while she chews.
“Me too. Especially the pumpkin ones.”
“I’ll have to bake you some of my blueberry scones. I have the best recipe,” Zinnia insists.
“I’d love that,” I say with a smile. “Hope you make lots of sales today!” I call out to her as I walk away.
“See you!” Zinnia waves.
Making my way to the Whispering Willow, I open the door and enter. A throwing knife flies across the space, narrowly missing my nose. I jerk back out of instinct as the blade lodges itself into the wood. Drawn on the opposite wall is a poorly shaped target with three rings. Six other knives are buried in the wood, proof they’ve been at it for a while.
I inch around the target practice by pressing my back to the wall and slowly slinking around the perimeter of the tavern. “Hey, Alastor,” I say as I reach the bar, pulling my apron over my head and tying it in the back.
“Afternoon,” he replies, unfazed by the knife throwing.
“Girl! I need a refill now!” someone calls out from acrossthe room. Glancing in the direction of the voice, I see an older Elvarran sitting at a table.
I walk over and pick up his tankard to refill it. Walking the empty tankard to Alastor, he fills it to the top. I return to the old Elvarran, who tosses me a bronze coin. I fall into a rhythm—picking up tables, filling glasses, and avoiding wandering hands from drunk men.
Dropping off a tankard, I see the beautiful brunette woman who accompanied that elixir peddler now sitting on a soldier’s lap. Her dark eyes meet mine, and a smile forms on her plush lips. She slides off him, and the soldier leans back with a scoff, drumming his fingers against the table.
“I wasn’t done?—”
“One moment.” Her voice is melodic, laced with sensuality as she glides a finger underneath his chin. “Good boys get rewards when they’re patient.”
A flush spreads across the man’s face, and he quickly clears his throat, drowning his fervor beneath his ale. The woman circles the table, elegant fingers untying my apron and pulling it over my head.
“What are you…?” I watch her fold it in half, rolling it slightly before reaching around me.
“You’re never going to make any tips like this,” she mutters under her breath, tying the apron low on my hips.
She unties the front laces of my corset, pulling it low before re-tying it, pushing my breasts together. She yanks my dress down, hiking part of the skirt up into the apron, revealing one of my legs.
“There!” she says confidently, stepping back to examine her work.
