Cole
A caged dove sings not of guilt, but of the open sky beyond its reach.
Cole rather liked that idea. He sat cross-legged on his cot, head against the cold brick wall, arms knotted over his chest as if holding himself together. He hadn’t moved since Lysander and Dunn had left them in this cell.
Kurtz, on the other hand, had not stopped moving. He paced the cell like a caged wolf, boots cracking against the stone floor. He fiddled with anything: a loose brick in the wall, a floor splinter, a tiny down feather from his pillow.
“This is ridiculous, eh?” Kurtz muttered, for the fifth—or was it sixth?—time.
Mistel must be worried. What if Anna, Zanna, whatever her name was…What if she couldn’t keep Mistel safe? What if something happened to her because Cole was here, in this cell that reeked of damp stone, mildew, and the metallic tang of rust?
“Lady Viola defies her husband’s order?” Kurtz said. “On his first day home as lord? Well, I don’t envy Eric’s position, I don’t. He should have known better than to marry a Jaelportian female. They can’t stand anyone having authority over them, eh? Eric will have his hands full, he will, trying to settle into his place as lord with her in the way.”
Cole winced and hoped Torin Oxbow and Gunnar Gedmund, the guards on duty, wouldn’t take offense at Kurtz insulting the Livnas.
Kurtz slammed his palm against the bars, the sound reverberating through the corridor. He angled his face in a gap between two rods and eyed the guards. “Let us out, Ox,” he asked for the third time.
“You know I can’t,” the bald man replied.
Kurtz shook the bars until they rattled. “What’s the going rate for keeping secrets from Lord Livna, eh? He frees me, yet his wife defies him. I assume the lady pays well for his men’s loyalty.”
“She didn’t pay us!” Gedmund yelled.
“Don’t encourage him, Gun,” Oxbow said. “This isn’t our fault, Kurtz. Take it up with Lord Livna when you next see him.”
Kurtz tap-tap-tapped his fingernail on one of the bars. “And when might that be, exactly?”
“No idea,” Oxbow said.
Kurtz growled, shoved off the bars, and paced to the wall where he wiggled the loose brick. Clink-clink, clink-clink. He sighed and leaned against the wall. “And you—” He jerked his chin at Cole. “Say something.”
Cole exhaled slowly. He disliked Kurtz’s temperamental side. “You didn’t like my idea.”
Because, Kurtz bloodvoiced through their open connection, even if I voiced Prince Oren, he wouldn’t ask Eric to release us. That would expose our alliance, and Oren wants no one—not even Eric—to know.
Then bloodvoice Lord Livna, Cole thought.
If it were Eagan or Nitsa or even Lord Pitney, I would. But Eric and I…we have a history, we do, and I’ve already mucked it up enough today.
You said you wanted to complain to him about his wife, Cole thought.
I want someone to tell him what happened so he’ll get mad at his wife, manipulative female that she is. But I don’t want to be the one to do it.
That made no sense. Cole clenched his jaw but stayed silent. Would Mistel worry if she knew they were locked up?
He recalled their kiss after the Poroo attack. What if she never kissed him again? Not that it mattered—it was too dangerous to get involved.
Right?
Kurtz moved back to the door and rattled it. “Shoddiest cell I’ve ever seen. If I had my sword, we’d be out in five minutes. Less, eh?”
Kurtz had insisted they leave their swords at the Ivory Spit. Even if they hadn’t, Oxbow and Gedmund would have confiscated them.
“Cruel woman didn’t even let me argue,” Kurtz said. “‘Detain them both,’ she said.”
Cole smothered a grin at Kurtz’s impression of Lady Viola. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sound of Kurtz’s pacing, but as another set of footsteps approached, his heart began to pound.
He met Kurtz’s eager gaze and said, “Someone’s coming.”
