THE SAFE HOUSE
It didn’t take long to walk the last distance to the safe house.
They stood at the very edge of Brighthold in front of a small manor, windows ablaze with light. Devery squeezed her hand as they made their way up the front walk, and Gemma found that she was nervous, though she had no real reason to be.
He knocked on the door. Before he’d finished his third rap the door flew open, revealing a tall, stately woman with brown hair, pulled back severely. She had full lips and shrewd blue eyes.
Gemma drew in a deep breath, reminding herself that she was the Queen of Under. Brinna had no reason to …
“Hello, Mother,” Devery said, his voice vacant of all warmth.
Brinna’s gaze snapped to her son, and she seemed to remember herself. “Come in, come in,” she said, her words betraying, only slightly, the odd accent she bore. She waved them inside and closed the door behind them.
Glancing around the entryway, Gemma noticed a chair that seemed out of place. A steaming cup of tea sat on the floor beside it. “You were expecting us,” she said.
“I saw the flames. I was worried, and I suspected my son might need solace.” She glanced at Devery. “I did not realize he’d be bringing company.”
“Mother, we’re tired. Save your judgment for morning.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
Brinna’s nostrils flared, but she stayed silent.
“Excellent,” Devery said. “We’ll be using the guest room, then.”
Gemma followed him through the entryway and into the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder. Gemma was grateful that Brinna was only throwing glances. If they’d been blades, she knew her blood would be staining the woman’s Ladian carpets.
Devery led her upstairs to a bedroom that was lushly furnished, then locked the door behind them. When he turned to meet her gaze, his expression was somber. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I don’t know why I keep expecting her to change.”
“It’s all right.” She pulled him to her by the front of his shirt. His arms slid around her waist. “You’re worth it.”
He grinned at her, crookedly, and she laughed as he slid into a chair. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “We can stay here until the smoke clears,” he said, his expression growing more serious. “The inhabitants are pretty awful, but …”
“We need to get a plan in place. I’m thinking that if we end up having to assault the palace, we’ll have to go through the Golden Door. I think the rest of the entrances are blocked by brambles and fire. We can put the Ain in the tunnels, in case somebody manages to sneak past us, and I guess we’ll have to count on anyone else who’s able to surround the palace Above. Maybe Lian can take charge there.” She had no idea how many of the Ain or the Guild members had survived the night’s massacre, but it was at least the skeleton of a plan.
“Or we could just stay here and pretend that the world isn’t ending.” Devery kissed her, his hands wandering down her body.
“Dev,” she interrupted him. “I can’t just sit here while Yigris goes to shit. In the morning, I’ll have to gather together what’s left of the Guild. We’ll need to start assessing how many mage women are in the palace—it looks like there’s at least four, if Iven’s princess is one, too.”
Devery looked up at her in surprise. “Princess?” he asked, and something in his eyes scared her, but an instant later, he was standing beside her. “Of course, you’re right. But can we worry about all of that tomorrow?”
She nodded and leaned into him as he kissed her long and slow. Soon, they were removing each other’s clothing once again until they were completely bare.
She drew him toward the enormous canopied bed.
“Prick the goddess,” he murmured as they slid between the smooth, cool sheets. “I don’t want to go to the After when I die. I just want to be here with you.”
He shuttered the lantern, and the room fell dark. She could feel the beating of his heart. His breath was warm on her neck, and his hand rested on the round of her belly. Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She grinned, stupid-happy in the dark.
I’ll tell him in the morning when I can see his face.
PART TWO
THERE’S
THE RUB
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SAFE HOUSE
Sun filtered through the window, eliciting a groan from Gemma as she pulled the pillow up over her face. “Blessed goddess, can’t you just keep the sun asleep for another day or two?” Her skin slid across satiny sheets as she snuggled deeper into the warm spot that lay beside her, almost as if another person was …
Her eyes flew open and she tossed off the covers, taking in a room she barely recognized. The night—and day—before came flooding back to her. Despite the warmth and the Devery-shaped divot in the bed beside her, she was alone in Brinna’s guest room. She slid from the bed and dressed.
As she neared the top of the staircase, she couldn’t help but hear whispered voices. She knew she should turn around, but something pulled her forward. As she reached the top of the stairs, she hid herself behind a pillar. She listened, confused, as she heard Devery and his mother arguing in whispered tones.
In Vagan.
Her mouth went dry as she fought to understand, but she had only learned a scrap of the language—just enough to recognize it for what it was. She swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest.
Devery was fluent in all the languages of the Four Winds. It was one of the Guild’s requirements before an assassin could be named master, so his ability wasn’t astonishing. But his use of the language at a time like this was nothing short of bewildering. And Gemma could see no reason at all why his mother—a wealthy immigrant from Far Coast—should ever use the Vagan language. Unless …
Her heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely hear their whispering, when a sudden knock on the front door interrupted thoughts she could not believe she was having.
The door downstairs opened and Brinna said warmly, “There you are. You had us worried.”
A young girl’s voice answered, “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”
Gemma heard the door close, then Brinna said, “Come here, darling. Give me a kiss.”
Small footsteps darted across the wooden floor, and after a moment, Gemma heard Brinna say, “I’ve a surprise for you. Look who’s here.”
More movement, and then the girl squealed. “Papa!”
Gemma’s eyes began to well, her throat tighten. She couldn’t breathe, and her trembling hands fluttered upward to cover her mouth. Below, she heard Devery’s voice, bright and clear, though low.
“Shhh. We’ve a guest sleeping upstairs. Come here, my girl. I’m glad that you’re safe. You’ve done so well.”
There was a tremor of emotion in his tone that Gemma had thought belonged only to her. Love. Devery loved this child. This was not an act.
“You’re filthy,” he chuckled softly. “Go on up to your room, and I’ll send the maid up with some water for a bath. But do be quiet, love. We don’t want to wake our guest.”
Unable to make sense of what she’d just heard, Gemma turned and slipped back into the guest room, her shredded heart pumping adrenaline through her veins. She paced the room in a fog of regret, and sat down on the now cold bed, the hilt of her blade clutched in a steady hand that managed not to betray her terror.
Several long moments passed as Gemma sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Devery’s return. Her knife lay across her lap, its blade bared. She was cold and empty. Nearly everything she had ever believed in was a lie.
When he came into the room, his movements meant to be quiet and not awaken her, she met his gaze with as much ferocity as she could. “Close the door,” she said, and when he stared at her in surprise, she threw her dagger at the wall where it stuck with a thud. “Close the goddess-damned door.”