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It’s an elegant, reasonable-sounding non-answer completely empty of actual information.
With thinking like that, Veradin should become a politician. I hate politicians.
Still, nothing they’ve said has the taste of a lie. Veradin verified everything Esme told me.
I want to ask about Rook, but I worry my ignorance might lead to questions about my kingdom of origin. They can’t know I’m from Tirene, home to the only living dragoncaller.
My gaze clashes with Esme’s.
She arches one eyebrow, and the corner of her lips curves.
That’s an ‘I told you so’ if I ever saw one.
I almost smile. She wears the confidence well. I wish I saw it more often. If she could ever learn to trust herself, Esme would be truly formidable.
Veradin sets down the glass rod with a soft clink. “Forgive me. I just remembered I left another potion unattended. I’ll return in a moment.”
He disappears through the passage before either of us can react.
Leaving me alone with Esme in a laboratory full of potential weapons, poisons, and objects I’ve been explicitly told not to touch.
A show of faith?
Esme slides off her stool and meanders through the space. First, she sniffs the pot, then she references the open book next to it. Satisfied with whatever she reads, she turns to the table. She trails fingers over bottles and jars, reviewing the levels in each and refilling low ones.
She’s the very image of a devoted apprentice restocking her mentor’s workstation. She appears more comfortable here than she’s been the entire time we’ve been traveling together.
As she wanders, my mind mulls over the question that’s been nagging at me since we arrived.
Why was she in that room in Edgehallow at that hour, on that night?
The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence.
Someone arranged for us to cross paths. Who, though? And why? Rook never came up in my investigation. I wasn’t given my contact’s name, only a location and time. Was I meant to meet Rook all along, or did they interfere?
I wonder what stakes exist for Esme beyond a country plunged into plague but am captivated by her unguarded features, which are breathtaking in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry or conventional beauty. She checks on the bugs in her pouch, cooing softly to them.
I shouldn’t let her looks distract me. Only a fool would focus on anything other than tactical calculation and professional wariness. Spying on a woman cuddling bugs should never be a turn on.
But I do notice, because apparently, I’m a fool.
Fuck.
If I need to keep reminding myself not to fall for her, I may very well end up dead.
And I’ll have no one but myself to blame.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Esme
The weight in my pouch shifts as my shadow spinners settle. Their sharp little feet find comfortable positions inside the leather pouch, their bodies warm against my hip.
“Esme.” Veradin’s voice cuts through my moment of happiness. “While I was gone, I had a thought. Can you walk me through the night that invisible creature appeared in detail? I know it’s difficult to describe what you couldn’t see, but I need you to try.” He ladles the thick golden liquid from the pot into waiting glass jars.
“Of course.” I cross to the worktable and begin fitting cork stoppers. The task busies my hands while I repeat my story.
Veradin keeps ladling, questioning me until he’s satisfied. After that, he pivots to Agnar, who’s been silently listening. “And you? What did you see?”
