Full of only grief and emptiness, she picked up a slice of bread oozing with melted butter. She took one bite and put it back on the plate. She coughed, choking it down.
He picked up the cup of tea and pushed it gently into her hands.
She sipped at it, and as soon as she swallowed it, she felt her throat begin to close. She couldn’t get any air as she cried out, dropping the cup to the floor. Her hands flailed at her throat as she sputtered.
“Gemma!” Devery screamed, taking hold of her hands. “What’s happening? Goddess, what’s wrong?”
She let out a wail before slumping, boneless, to the bed.
He fumbled at the collar of her robe, feeling for a pulse. As the edges of her world went black, panic filled his voice as he bellowed, “Mother!”
Prick, she thought as the room was swallowed by the abyss. I should have seen that coming.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BRIGHTHOLD
Tollan opened his eyes to find himself staring at a bug’s eye view of a carpet of grass and Wince’s boots. “Goddess, am I dead?” he groaned, rolling onto his back. Every inch of him hurt as if he’d been tossed around ship’s quarters during a hurricane.
“He’s gone,” Wince said, voice tight.
Tollan pushed himself up, then regretted it immediately. “Who?”
“Brother Silken-Pants,” Wince growled. “We’re absolutely pricked, and I don’t mind saying I wasn’t thrilled that our only ally was a whore from Under, but at least we had someone.” He gestured wildly around them. “Do you even know where the prick we are?”
He tossed Uri’s coin in the air and caught it, the way Tollan had seen him do a thousand times before.
From the back of the house, a voice called, “You’re just across Thieves’ Row in Brighthold, and, frankly, Master Quintella, I prefer to be called Brother Tight-Pants or simply Silky. No need for formality among friends.”
Elam came around the corner, his arms laden with loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese and two bottles of wine. His pockets bulged with what Tollan presumed was some sort of round fruit. “Breakfast is served, gentlemen,” he said, tossing a loaf to Tollan and grinning broadly at Wince.
Tollan tore the loaf in half and passed the other piece to Wince, then stifled his own laughter by tearing off a large bite, and chewing ecstatically.
“Robbing houses, then?” Wince asked, staring down at the bread in his hands.
“I understand that you have some misgivings, but, really, there is no one who’s going to mind. I suspect that until we figure out what is going on with those mage marks, nearly every citizen in Yigris is going to stay sleeping like a babe in arms.” Elam pulled the cork on a bottle of wine and raised the bottle toward the sky. “To the goddess,” he said brazenly, “May she protect us from the rough prickery ahead.”
Wince choked on his laughter, and Tollan exhaled, relieved. He needed the Wince who told ribald jokes and remembered how to laugh. He didn’t think he could handle the world if Wincel Quintella stayed serious forever.
“What do you mean about the mage marks?” Tollan asked as he caught an apple that Elam tossed in his direction.
Elam took a bite of his own apple, chewed it properly, then swallowed before answering. “I went in that house last night. There’s a whole household in there—two maids, a nursemaid, a man and his fat-but-lusty wife, and a spit of a kid—and no matter what I did, I couldn’t wake a soul.”
“Are they … dead?” The apple turned to ash in Tollan’s mouth.
Elam shook his head. “Snoring away, perfectly peaceful. They just can’t be awakened.”
Wince snatched the bottle of wine from him, and tipped it toward the sky. “Aegos. The whole prickling city is asleep?”
Elam stood, motioning for them to gather the rest of their breakfast. “I suspect so, but let’s go have a glance, eh?”
Tollan’s body ached from sleeping on the ground, and by the time Elam stopped an hour later and said, “We’re close to the safe house,” he was grateful for the reprieve. “I want to have a look before we go up to the door and make sure that we weren’t followed and that no one is watching the place. I don’t want to expose Gemma or you, Your Grace.”
Tollan nodded, and he and Wince stayed in the shadows of a tall manor house.
“Do you think Gemma will call the Ain?” Wince asked once Elam had disappeared.
Tollan thought for a moment. “Can’t say. I’d like to think she would, but I don’t think the girl who was bouncing on the bed and spitting on my cock is the same girl who killed that man at Canticle Center. I think it all depends on what’s happened since we left her and what she’s found.” He didn’t want to think about what would happen if things had gone badly. Gemma Antos was the barrel he was clinging to in this storm, and if she and her Ain couldn’t help him float, he’d most likely go under.
Elam came from behind them. “I don’t know,” he said softly, his brow furrowed as he removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Something is … odd.”
Tollan arched an eyebrow at him.
“We haven’t seen a living soul anywhere, right?”
Tollan and Wince nodded.
He went on. “As I was watching the safe house, a little girl approached and knocked on the door. Devery’s mother, Lady Brinna, opened it—I saw her, and hers is not a face I’m likely to forget. She let the girl in, and—”
Wince shrugged. “This is a Guild safe house, right? So anyone in the Guild could have made their way here. Perhaps the kid is one of your street rats.”
“That’s what’s odd. I recognized the girl, too. She’s one of the urchins. But this isn’t a safe house that’s known to the Guild. This is a secret place. Only Gemma, Devery and I know it exists.” Elam’s amber eyes held real fear. “But stranger still, why isn’t Lady Brinna asleep?”
Tollan looked at Wince. “What do we do?”
“We can’t go in there,” Elam said, turning his gaze upward. “Not until we have a better idea of what’s happening. Something here isn’t right, and I think we should stay put until we figure out what it is.” He grinned at Tollan. “Come, Your Grace. I’m going to teach you the first rule of bloodwork.”
A shudder ran down Tollan’s spine. “And what’s that?”
“Get to know your victims as well as you know yourself.”
Quicker than Tollan would have thought possible, Elam picked the lock on the back door of a tall manor house, and the three of them scuttled inside. He balked at the idea of breaking into someone’s home, but Elam laid a gentle hand on his lower back and guided him in. Wince began to search the first floor for any danger.
Elam brushed past Tollan. “Let’s get the lay of the place,” he said, but Tollan was still focusing on the warmth that remained where the prayer keeper’s hand had been. All his life, he’d pushed that part of himself aside. He was to be king, and the king must have a queen, because the king must have an heir. Desire had nothing to do with it. He shook his head.
Elam was moving through the kitchen. He bent over a trapdoor in the floor. He pulled up the handle and quickly disappeared. An instant later, his head reappeared. “Root cellar,” he said, grinning. “We can stay down here tonight. We’ll be able to have light without anyone seeing.”
“Do you think we’ll be here long?” Tollan asked. In the back of his mind, he saw his brother. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that Iven was participating in the mage women’s plans willingly. If the mage women hadn’t killed him, the fire may have. That thought made him tremble with impotent rage, but Tollan refused to give up hope. If they had no proof that Gemma was even at the safe house, and if they were going to have the Ain assist them, they had to find Gemma. And without the Ain …
“I’m a prickling idiot,” Tollan groaned, leaning against the wall in resignation.