Before I can answer, the door opens, and Rowan steps inside, breathless from haste.
“I’ve heard from Ashford,” he says.
My heart jumps. “When?” I ask.
“Tonight. He says there is a man we must speak to. A tavern in the lower quarter. I am leaving in an hour and will send word to you at the palace when it is done.”
“I’m coming,” I say immediately.
Rowan doesn’t even blink. “He said you are not to.”
“This concerns my life,” I reply sharply. “You are taking a risk for me. I will not sit safely at home while you do it.”
Rowan exhales slowly, already weary. “He said you would say that.”
I narrow my eyes. “Of course he did.”
“And he wants me to remind you,” Rowan continues carefully, “that you told him you’d trust him to handle this.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well,” I say coolly, “if he knows everything I will say and do anyway, he should nothave bothered to give you all the answers in advance. I am coming.”
For a moment, Rowan just stares at me.
Then he laughs under his breath. “You two are a match made in hell.”
I reach for my cloak, and Rowan lifts three torches from beside the door. I pause, looking at them—then at him. “Three?”
He shrugs innocently. “Ashford said to take three. He knew you’d come along anyway.”
I cannot decide whether to be annoyed or amused. Behind me, Aileen lets out a soft hum of approval.
“I like that he knows you well,” she says. “And that he accepts your determination. Points for the Broker.”
Heat touches my cheeks.
We leave quickly, moving along darkened streets. Rowan walks slightly ahead, guiding us through alleys I do not recognize.
When the tavern comes into view, it looks like it was built to blend in. The low roof, the faded sign, the windows almost hidden behind closed shutters.
Inside, the air smells of old ale and damp wood.
Before we ascend the stairs, I pull my hood forward, shadowing my face. The less attention I draw, the better.
Rowan leads us up. Voices murmur behind a closed door at the end of the corridor. He knocks once, and the voices fall silent when Rowan pushes the door open.
The first face I see is the man who enchanted the ring for me all those years ago. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him. Well…his right eye is black and blue, swelling dark against light skin. He looks strained, as though he has not slept well.
Then there is Ashford.
He stands near the window, half in shadow. And when his eyes find mine, relief flickers there first, then longing. Then something far more sinister that makes my breath catch in my throat.
For one unguarded heartbeat, he looks as though he has been holding himself together by sheer force of will. Then the mask slides back into place.
“You see?” he says calmly to the man. “I told you she would come.”
The man nods when I enter. He rises halfway from his chair, then seems to remember himself and bows awkwardly instead. “Thank you for coming, Your Majesty,” he says, voice shaky at first before he gathers it. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course,” I reply, taking the chair opposite. “You were at the chapel. You offered to enchant the ring.”
