Cole barely heard him. “What was I thinking? A good soldier pays attention.”
“And what did you see?” Kurtz asked, his voice gentler this time.
Cole rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing. She was in the storage room. We talked about playing the funeral so we could keep an eye on Verdot and Thusk while you and Zanna…” Movement pulled his attention to two barmaids and a man standing outside the tavern’s back door, their gazes fixed on him. Cole lowered his voice, suddenly wary. “I went out and talked to Nash. Then Crow voiced me and?—”
“There’s your problem,” Kurtz said. “What did he want?”
Pressure coiled around Cole’s throat, threatening to strangle him. “He heard I was asking about Crispen West. Said Fenris used that name back in the day when he went to the tailor’s shop, so his father wouldn’t know he’d snuck off.”
Kurtz grunted. “Sounds about right.”
“I ran into the storage room to tell Mistel, but she was gone.” Cole’s voice broke slightly as he added, “What am I going to do? I was supposed to keep her safe. I failed her and the mission and I?—”
Kurtz fisted Cole’s tunic and shook him, snapped him out of his spiral. “Enough! Look at me, lad. Into my eyes.”
Cole reluctantly fixed his gaze on Kurtz. It felt too raw, too exposing, and he glanced away.
“Look at me,” Kurtz sang.
Cole shifted his gaze back, his heart pounding in his ears.
“Breathe,” Kurtz commanded.
Cole sucked in an icy breath through his nose.
“I’m done listening to you lie to yourself, I am,” Kurtz said. “You’re not a failure or you wouldn’t be here. Even the best of men get the hood pulled over their eyes every so often, they do. But they don’t stand out in the snow whining about it, eh? They act. You’re going to go get her, you are. And right now.”
Cole wiped the melting snow off his face. “How?”
“You’re a smart lad. Think! He couldn’t have gone far.”
“The road?” Cole suggested, his voice gaining strength. “One of Thusk’s wagons?”
“I like that, I do,” Kurtz said, releasing him. “Let’s go look.”
Cole sprinted past Kurtz toward the stables, his boots crunching over the snow. Cherix would carry him faster than his feet, and he’d find Mistel.
He had to.
What was breath without Mistel? What was life if she was lost?
Cherix’s hooves thudded against the snow-packed cobblestone streets of the Fisherman’s Quarter, his steps steady despite the slick surface. Thick, heavy flakes spiraled from the dark sky, coating Cole’s cloak and stinging his cheeks. The wind bit into the tops of his ears, but he didn’t care. Not now. Not with Mistel gone.
Beside him, Kurtz rode Smoke, his lantern held aloft, its flickering yellow glow casting long, dancing shadows over the frosted eaves and snow-covered ground. The darkness pressed back heavily, swallowing details in every direction.
Cole scanned the streets, his gaze darting down alleyways and through the rare glass window. The snow seemed to smother even the faintest sound. No voices, no creaking wagons, not even the distant howl of the wind. It was too quiet. Too still. Either Drustan hadn’t come this way, or he and Mistel were already gone.
“If Drustan harms her in any way, his blood will clean my sword,” Cole said.
Kurtz raised an eyebrow. “That’s the spirit.” He pulled Smoke to a halt at a crossroads. “I’ll take the east side. You check west.”
Cole turned Cherix westward. He pushed him into a canter and strained to see through the falling snow. His heart sank deeper with every empty street. All lay deserted, the fresh snow untouched by man, beast, wheel, or sleigh. If Drustan had come this way, the evidence had been buried.
By the time he met Kurtz back at the crossroads, Cole’s chest felt like it might erupt. “Anything?” he asked.
Kurtz shook his head. “Nothing.”
Cole clenched his reins, his knuckles white. An idea sprang to mind. “Bloodvoice Crow,” he demanded, his voice harsher than intended. “See if he knows anything.”
