Page 52 of The False Vow

At last, I shifted to look directly at him. On my other side, Markham scoffed—though I could hear apprehension beneath it, rumbling up his throat. “Is that so? Are you going to kill me in this bar?”

“Why not?” Noé shrugged, silencing us both. “Let’s say that I did. I’d guess fifteen thousand for the barkeep’s silence, ten thousand each for those men there.” He nodded to the patrons seated in the booth on the far side of the pub, both of them still diligently peering into their mugs of ale as if trying to find something at their bottoms. “That leaves me with fifteen excess. I could buy your sister a new ring.”

In emphasis, he leaned closer, his thumb brushing over my engagement band to circle the gem at its center. The abruptness of his touch startled me; without thinking, I tilted my chin higher, unsteadied.

Our gazes locked. I was surprised to find that I could read the message in his: Trust me.

The sound of my brother’s nervous chuckle pulled me away again. “Lovey,” Markham said. “You would truly let him kill me?”

I whipped toward him, drawn by the pet name—it had been a decade, at least, since I’d heard him employ it. Immediately, Noé slouched nearer to me, his mouth hovering just above my ear.

“Lovey, your brother is disappointing me,” he murmured. “Are you sure you’re related?”

A thrill walked down my spine at Markham’s murderous expression. For a moment, I felt an instinctive push to defend him, but it passed as soon as I recalled the callousness with which he’d attempted to barter me. Like I was a pet, one he wished to rid himself of as soon as possible.

My panic receded. I felt my lips curl in the beginning of a smile.

“Here’s what I’ll do,” Noé said. “You will have twenty thousand, because I find it embarrassing to have any family connection of mine living in abject poverty. Then you will detach yourself from your sister and me like the well-fed leech you so clearly desire to become. If you attempt to return and ask for more, I will kill you. If you so much as speak her name aloud”—he gestured toward me, his fingers splayed with what I realized with a dull shock was fury—“I will hunt you down, I will hurt you, and then I will kill you. You are familiar with my father’s gifts, I am certain. If you do wrong by our family, the Weaver King himself will search the mind of every man, woman, and child on the Isle d’Eylau until he uncovers whatever mud heap you have buried yourself in. There is no place you can hide from us.”

He paused, his body tensed, though his voice remained perfectly calm.

“Do I make myself quite clear?”

For a moment, my brother gave no response, the only sounds the occasional creak of wood as the barman shifted back and forth across the floorboards and the thump of my own heart, knocking at my chest. Then Markham’s eyes slid my way. “Lovey—”

Noé’s tsk was like a knife. “Already slipping up, I see,” he chided. “I asked you not to address her.” He cleared his throat. “My offer now stands at seventeen thousand,” he said, unbudging when Markham winced as if cut. “Shall I lower it again? I am sure you have debts to pay.”

My brother flushed—truly flushed, like a berated servant, apologizing for some mishap at dinner. It was everything I could do to keep myself from gaping at him as he answered, “No.”

Noé smirked. “Excellent.” Nodding to me, he prompted briskly, “Let’s practice, shall we? Who is this woman to you?”

Markham’s gaze traveled guiltily toward me before hurrying away again. “Nobody,” he ground out. “I have never seen her in my life.”

“Fast learner.” Noé clucked his tongue, while I remained still, my skin buzzing with disbelief. “I’m beginning to see the resemblance.”

Digging into his pocket, he produced a fresh note from his billfold and flicked it across the bar toward Markham. “A bonus, for strong improvement,” he said. “Now get away from us. The sight of you nauseates me, and I cannot drink on a sour stomach.”

—

We passed the remainder of our time at the pub in silence.

After my brother left, my fiancé had ordered a cup of red wine, then a second, downing them both in quick succession. Though I’d questioned the choice, there was a reckless, unbalanced air about him that made me hesitant to voice my qualms aloud; he’d gripped his glass like a man just returned from the boxing ring, his fingers still reaching to throttle his opponent.

And I’d been in my own haze, too. Pleased as I was to see Markham brought low, I was ashamed and humiliated by my performance. Curling up like a schoolgirl before her bully—it was pathetic. Not to mention, my floundering had put me even further in Noé’s debt.

My gaze slid to him, seated next to me in the leather booth of the automobile, which he was jerkily directing back up the cliffside path toward Fortblanche. He’d saved me twice now—once at the end of the Vainglory, once from my own brother.

Once more, and I feared it would become a pattern.

I cleared my throat. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

Noé’s eyes skipped my way, his hold on the steering level loosening. “Tamerlane, I would never make you thank me for that.”

For some reason, his answer only embarrassed me further. “You are not making me,” I replied tightly. “I am offering.” Glancing reluctantly at him, I forced myself to utter the dreaded words. “Thank you.”

His lips crooked in a half smile. “Only you could make gratitude sound like a curse.” Exhaling, he tugged on the brim of his cap, then dropped his arm to his side. “So,” he ventured. “Your brother. Is he your only sibling?”

I nodded around the knot in my throat. “Yes,” I replied. “His name is Markham—my elder brother. We lived together prior to my joining the Vainglory.” Averting my gaze, I shifted in my seat. “Our parents left the country over a year ago. You shouldn’t have to pay off anyone else.”