A grin spread across his face. He had answers. Real ones. He leaped off his chair and rushed to the storage room, eager to share the news with Mistel. When he pushed the door open, he found the room empty.
Odd.
Cole frowned and walked back into the tavern. His gaze panned the room, searching for those ginger curls.
Nothing.
He strode to the table where Kurtz sat. “Have you seen Mistel?”
“Not since the two of you headed into the hallway,” Kurtz said.
A chill ran up Cole’s spine.
“So guess what?” Kurtz said. “We have to?—”
“Where could she have gone?” Cole asked.
Kurtz stood up. “Calm your ruffled feathers. I’ll check the outhouse and stables. You wait here in case she returns.”
While Kurtz rushed off, Cole made a lap around the tavern, eyeing every table carefully to make sure Mistel hadn’t joined some new friends for a chat. When that yielded nothing, he checked the storage room again, then went into the kitchen, as Mistel occasionally talked with the barmaids while they filled pitchers and plates.
No one had seen her.
His stomach slid down into his boots.
Nash emerged from the office, and Cole stalked toward him. “Have you seen Mistel?”
“She was talking to Drustan a few minutes ago,” Nash said.
Cole’s blood ran cold. “Where?”
Nash hesitated, then showed Cole a narrow passage between the office and kitchen. “That door at the end leads outside.”
Cole’s feet were already moving. He shoved open the heavy oak door, which scraped an arc through a layer of fresh snow. Large flakes drifted from above, quickly covering his head and shoulders.
“Mistel?” Cole yelled, forming fresh boot prints as he made his way around to the back door. He caught sight of Kurtz in the distance, headed back in from the stables.
Kurtz Chazir.
Cole lowered his shields. Anything?
Kurtz shook his head and bloodvoiced, No sign of her.
Mistel was gone.
Chapter 36
Mistel
Move, Mistel. Move!
Her head lolled against a broad shoulder, her body swaying with each step her captor took. Beneath them, a wooden staircase creaked, the sound muffled by the fog in her mind. Cold air nipped at her exposed hands, sharp enough to sting. Her thoughts spilled like ink on wet parchment, leaving her unable to grasp where she was or how she’d gotten there.
Someone had grabbed her. That much she remembered. Rough hands pinning her arms, prying open her mouth, shoving something inside. The bitter, woodsy taste had made her gag. Then an iron grip over her mouth and nose and a low warning growl in her ear.
“Swallow it.”
She’d made the motion, and he must have believed it because he released her face and swung her over his shoulder. She’d spit out most of the vile substance behind his back, the liquid running hot along her cheek and into her ear. Yet some of it had managed to pass down her throat, enough to send dizziness spiraling through her.
