“Releasing her.”
The captain was like a spitting cat, hissing at the docile dog that had come to nudge her along. “On whose authority?”
The lone guard with those pure brown eyes stepped into view, his face all hard lines—an open book with unreadable text. “Mine.”
A few minuteslater, Nes found herself in a plain square room with a regular door rather than a set of bars. It wasn’t a cell—a round table and chairs sat between them—but she still got the sense her rescuer sought to trap her.
The other captain hadn’t been pleased with her release. But the older man also hadn’t argued with the lone guard. It spoke volumes of the power this guard held. Not just a guard and not just a captain.
Her gaze slid over the pins and medals adorning his chest. There was the hollow silver circle signifying his rank as captain and, beside it, another pin. A spoked square she’d never seen before.
She crossed her arms. He had the sort of handsome face that drew the eye. And, despite the medals on his chest, it was his face that caught her like she was no more than an animal in a snare.
“So,” she said, idly tapping a finger on one of the chairs, “what do you want?”
He leaned back against the table and, crossing one boot over the other, cocked his head toward her. His attempt to appear at ease might have worked on anyone else, but she knew tension when she saw it. Knew what a locked jaw looked like, knew his legs were stretched too straight, that his fingers gripped the rounded edge too tight.
“What makes you think I want something?” he asked.
“My life is of no consequence to you. The only reason you’d release me is if you want something from me.”
“Most people would say ‘thank you.’ I did just get you out of prison.”
“You got me out of a cell. We’re still in the prison,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“A false name doesn’t change your face,” he said, his voice almost causal enough to be believable. “But which do you prefer? Invy? Or Nes?”
She squashed her surprise a second before it escaped her. Pushing onto her tiptoes, she leaned into the back of a chair, pressing all of her weight into the spindles. So he’d learned her name. Big deal.
“Is it short for something?”
She fought to loosen her own jaw and shrugged. “Nothing worth knowing.”
He studied her for a moment. She stared back, unblinking. Whatever this was about—whatever he wanted from her—she’d handle it. All she needed was to gain the upper hand.
“But I’m sure yours is.”
His shoulders tightened, his tension obvious in the lines stretching his jacket.
She grinned. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Your name, Captain.” She glared at him. “It’s only fair seeing as you know two of mine.”
“Toran,” he said. “Toran Roada.”
Curses rang through her head. She straightened and fought the urge to reach for a dagger that wasn’t there.
“Toran Roada?” she repeated in a controlled, nearly bored tone, covering her slip of shock. She had to be careful with him. “As in the Prince’s Crown?”
He nodded, looking none too pleased she knew his true title. She wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The whole country knew his name.
“I’m surprised you’re still considered a captain. Weren’t you the one who led that mission down to Aeos?” He paled, and it was all she needed to grab that upper hand. “The one where more than half the legion was killed? And the King didn’t take your sword for that?”
She eyed the decorated hilt hanging from his belt and the way his grip tightened around the handle. He was protective of the sword. Another good thing to know.
“That’s in the past.”
