Keeping his voice low, he hisses, “What the fuck really happened on the road?”
The message I sent yesterday only briefly mentioned Sabine’s kidnapping and the fact that I killed everyone involved.
“It’s a lot to tell you,” I say, gaze shifting toward the Valveres. Those vipers. Especially old Eleonora, who only pretends to be senile. I know they have their ears pricked. As do the servants, half of which are spies. “Where’s Lord Berolt?”
It’s strange that Lord Berolt isn’t here to greet Sabine. Though it would be less of a greeting and more of an assessment. The moment Rian returned from Bremcote, a year ago, saying he wanted to marry a godkissed girl, Berolt got a fucking hard-on. He’s always craved godkissed offspring—I guess a godkissed grandchild is the best he can hope for now. I don’t know if he still performs his creepy experiments on godkissed, but at least Sabine’s child-bearing ability will spare her from his attention.
“A squabble at the Titan Taverna,” Rian says. “Just a hiccup, but he was required.”
He jerks his head for me to follow him into the castle. We pass through the arched foyer with its stained-glass window depicting Immortal Popelin’s dark brown grinning face, up a spiral flight of stairs, and down a long hallway to his bedroom. It’s an enormous room, the bed occupying only a small portion. He has a formal office elsewhere on the second floor, but this is where he conducts most of his business—the giant table with its map of Astagnon carved into the top, a desk stacked with books, a pair of leather seats where we’ve shared many a drink, and a rug that has seen so much blood I can’t fathom how the servants keep getting the stains out.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, going immediately to the sideboard where he stores his liquor. “No—first, tell me about her. Does she hate me as much as it seemed?”
“She does,” I grunt.
“Good. That means she has some sense in that pretty head. I’ll change her sentiment soon enough—mark my words.” He sloshes amber liquid into two crystal glasses and then passes me one. “What is she like?”
“Angry. Headstrong. Oh, and she fucking hates Immortal Iyre. You should take any shit down that has her emblem. Do you still keep tigers in the cells beneath the arenas? If so, don’t let her near them.”
Rian chuckles, not at all intimidated by the fact that his new bride could send every one of the exotic beasts he uses for fights to rip out his throat. “Is that how you got that scratch on your cheek? She sent a wild animal after you?”
Sabine gave me the particular scratch he’s referring to, but it’s close enough to the truth that I just nod.
“What else?”
I hesitate. Where do I start with Sabine? She’s a riddle of contradictions. Her kindness knows no end, yet she won’t hesitate to claw a villain like me. She watched me murder the Volkish raiders with dark delight. Then she daydreamed about us frolicking on the beach.
She’s more multifaceted than that hefty diamond waiting for her in her wedding ring.
“She was beaten and neglected in the Convent of Immortal Iyre. All twelve fucking years she was there. They kept her locked up. Tried to keep animals away from her so she couldn’t use her godkiss. If I were you, I’d give her every semblance of freedom you can. Trying to pin her down will only push her away. Encourage her godkiss, too. Let her talk to every four-legged thing in the castle. Give her perches for her room, dog beds for the floor.”
Rian listens closely, then goes to the door, waves over the chamberlain, and commands him to do what I’ve suggested. When he returns, he takes a long, thoughtful sip of his drink.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
I know that testing tone in his voice. I’ve heard it a million times, and I know how to handle it. With a shrug, I say wryly, “Only if you like a perfect face and perfect body and perfect hair.” I throw back the rest of my drink as casually as I can.
Rian laughs, clapping me on the back. “You see, Wolf? This is why I sent you to accompany her. Everyone else lies to me. But you see a beautiful fucking girl and call her a beautiful fucking girl. What happened to her hair, by the way?”
I stare into my empty glass. “Her kidnappers cut it off.”
His face darkens. “Hmm. Well, it doesn’t matter. Ferra can restore it when she returns. Go on. Tell me everything.”
Leaning on the map table, I recount the journey’s highlights—leaving out some key points, like how I promised Sabine I’d betray my duty and then fucked her until she was moaning my name. Red creeps over my neck as I try to stick to the Red Church’s interference in Claremont and how we changed course as a result, then the fire in Blackwater, Sabine’s kidnapping, and the rescue. I’m not the best liar. Sure, I’ve learned tricks from the Valveres, but it never comes naturally to me. Fortunately, Rian’s had a few drinks already today, judging by his breath, and he isn’t at his sharpest.
As I finish the story, my eyes fall to his four-poster bed at the other end of the room. My throat tightens. Before I can stop them, images flood my head. Is Rian going to fuck Sabine in that bed? When? Tonight?
I manage to tear my thoughts away from the mental picture of my master and the girl I crave fucking each other, and focus on the most important part of my report.
“The spy who set the fire at the Manywaters Inn was one of the raiders.” I hesitate before delivering the rest, knowing how significant it is. “They were sent by King Rachillon.”
One of his eyes twitches; otherwise, his face betrays no emotion. After so many years running a gambling empire, he knows how to mask his true thoughts. Does he already know about Volkish incursions into Astagnon? About King Rachillon’s rise to power?
I can’t fucking tell.
His hand dips into his pocket for his Golath dime, which he absently toys with between his fingers. “You’re certain?”
“They told Sabine as much. And they had the Volkish look. Not to mention the starleon—where else would it have come from if not across the border?” I fold my arms tightly. “Did you know about the wall breach?”
He lifts his shoulder with the decorative harness in an ambiguous shrug.
I add, “On the road, we heard of several more godkissed kidnappings. And there’s that business up near the border I told you about. The possible goldenclaw who killed a godkissed girl, though now I’m thinking she wasn’t killed, but abducted. And not by the goldenclaw, but raiders who came across with it. With your leave, I’d like to investigate the area more thoroughly.”
At the time, Rian dismissed my suggestion about a goldenclaw’s appearance as readily as he had the hermit last year who claimed to see a monoceros. Now, I wonder if my report wasn’t the first he’d heard of a goldenclaw in the Blackened Forest. If maybe he’s known about ancient magic crossing the border for years.
“Don’t worry about it, Wolf,” he says, waving his fingers. “I’m sure if such things were happening, I’d know.”
There’s an edge to his voice like he does know about it—probably far more than I do.