I force a smile to slip across my face and gesture to a folded pile of fabric that’s sitting on a floating shelf in an effort to keep up the ruse. I have no idea how this particular spell works, but hopefully this looks believable.
“Well, Ren wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in that argument because she died taking risks just like this. And no, I’m not here to get you out. If the queen is working on that plan, she hasn’t included me in it. All I know is that I was contacted days ago and informed that you’d most likely been taken by The Horde. They asked me to see what information I could find on where they might be keeping you and what’s going on.
“When the royal summons for a stylist came through, I figured that was our in. Azo was supposed to pitch to whoever called the meeting, wait to be dismissed, and then poke around the keep to see what he could find out. We didn’t expect that the summons would be for you or that they’d take Azo right to you. What happened? How are you here? Are you okay?”
She shakes her head as she grabs several items from a rack and starts showing them to me.
“Ignore that last question, of course you’re not okay.”
I snort and reach out to run my fingers over the fabric she’s displaying, pretending to be impressed by it. I sneak a peek over at the drakes, but none of them look even slightly concerned or suspicious of anything that’s happening. In fact, they look bored as fuck, which I take as a good sign.
“Four months ago, Ren and I were taken by blood brokers…”
“Those same ones you kept running into on missions?” she asks, clearly having talked to Ren about it at some point.
“The very ones,” I confirm. “I got out, but I didn’t get far before the dragons caught up with me. I’m so sorry, Nixy, but Ren—”
Fenox raises a hand, cutting me off. She masks the motion by reaching for some kind of vest and holds it up for me.
“Don’t go there, Your Highness. The queen told me what she knew, and while it wasn’t much, I don’t need to know any more than that. Not today. My sister died protecting someone she loved. It’s how she always expected to go, and she’d have no regrets. Not one. That’s more than any of us can hope for, so whatever it is you’re sorry for, don’t be.” Her tone is sharp, her cadence determined, yet her face is serene and warm, giving nothing away.
I nod once, but the rushing rapids of grief come for me despite her understanding, or maybe because of it.
“Ren loved you fiercely,” I tell her, knowing it’s dangerous to tug on this thread, but it needs to be said. If I can’t explain anything else, I need to at least assure her of that.
“Stop,” Fenox both commands and pleads. “If you start, I’ll start, and they’ll know we’re not talking about underwear and plaster suits.”
She turns toward the displays, taking a moment to blink her welling eyes free of any moisture. I nod again and force my way through the dangerous current coursing through me, intent on keeping my mask in place from here on out.
No more slipups.
“I assume you’re now my point of contact,” I observe, hating that Nixy is getting even more wrapped up in this mess than she already is. Not that there’s any way around it. From the looks of things, she’s in deep with The Horde. I’m both grateful and concerned, with a little guilt stirred into the mix, because it feels good to know I’m not completely alone in this like I thought I was.
Fenox nods and gestures to several dresses. “Yes. That direct assignment hasn’t come through, but I’m sure it will as soon as I pass along what happened today. Designing your wardrobe and dressing you is the perfect cover. I admit, I always hoped I’d be able to help. I never expected it to be like this though.”
A small laugh slips out as I wander over to a stack of pants and start looking through them. “Clothing companies have been saying for ages that fashion is life or death; who knew they had it right?” I joke, and Nixy giggles, the sound loosening the tension weighing on both of us.
“How can I help?” Nixy asks, and I don’t even know where to start.
“What do you know about what Ren and I were doing with our Flight, about our missions?” I ask, unsure if it’s wise to bring her in, not when the Syphons are already dealing with betrayal issues within our own ranks. Enslee obviously trusts Nixy, Ren did too, but I won’t pull her in any deeper if she doesn’t already know what we’re doing.
“You’re hunting down the sorcai that cursed you. Well, their bloodline at least. Blood Crafters, right? Isn’t that what they’re called?”
I nod and blow out a breath. “Do you know much about the sorcai covens here? I’m looking specifically for Relacours, but I don’t want to just go throwing their name around,” I explain, and Nixy looks thoughtful.
“I could keep my ear out, but wyverns and sorcai aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If I start asking around, it doesn’t matter how discreet I am, someone is going to notice. The Magic Licensing Bureau would probably be your best bet, if you’re looking for records, but I don’t think that’s the kind of place you can hack or even break into.”
I sigh. “I know, we’ve tried to hack it multiple times and haven’t had any luck,” I admit. I huff out a laugh. “Maybe I could request a tour for my mating present.”
Fenox makes a choking sound. “Mating present?” she croaks, clearing her airway of shock.
“Azo didn’t tell you?” I tease flatly. “I’m being held in Aeson Noctis’s mating suite. Initially, I thought it was just a coincidence—I got a little Source buzzed and mouthy, and they needed somewhere secure to interrogate me—but now I’m not so sure. The fact that they’re playing dress-up with me and practically soft launching my existence has me wondering if all of this is some kind of strategic posturing.”
Fenox considers what I’m saying as she pulls a measuring meter from her pocket and instructs me to spread my arms. She starts sizing me up and zipping the meter across my body. I take that opportunity to check on the drakes again. They look just as disinterested as they did before.
“If they’re maneuvering you for that, it would make sense that they’d attach you to Aeson and not Lorn. Lorn’s notofficiallyspoken for, but there’s been an understanding between the king and Duke Warrik, Jesamyn Warrik’s father, for quite some time. Not to mention they wouldn’t want to give you access to the throne. They’ll give you a notable position where they could use you—or rather your name—when it suits them, but not place you in a legitimate position of power.”
Nixy squats down and starts measuring my legs and inseam.
