“Then say it!” It was not a request.
But to my surprise, the fey merely smiled. Maybe because his friend had just joined the action. From leaning on the wall to hands on Pritkin’s biceps, in the time it took to blink. Pritkin jerked his arms, which went exactly nowhere, and the first fey resumed his former occupation.
And lifted another finger.
“What are you concealing, lovely one?” he asked, watching Pritkin’s reddening face. “And so carefully?”
A third finger was raised, and his eyes slid back to me.
“Is it dangerous?”
A fourth.
“Or is it . . . sweet?”
He pulled my hand away, leaving me bare to his gaze. And to his touch, which immediately slipped between my legs. I choked back a sound of revulsion, but I guessed not well enough. Because a scuffling fight suddenly broke out between the other fey and Pritkin.
The first one barely glanced at them. “Oh yes,” he said as he began to explore, “I think it’s sweet.”
He found the small nub hidden inside my folds and rolled it between his fingers, grinning when I recoiled. He did it again, and his eyes darkened when I cried out. “Let’s find out if you think I’m sweet, too,” he said, and pushed me to my knees.
But a second later, Pritkin was out of the second guard’s grasp and between me and my tormentor, shoving him back with one hand, the other pulling me behind him. Which might have worked better if there hadn’t been two of them. “Knife!” I yelled as the second guard lunged up from the floor, weapon in hand.
But the first one raised a hand, pausing the action, his eyes suddenly sharp and thoughtful. He glanced at me, and at the fist I’d curled into the back of Pritkin’s shirt, in case I had to shift us out. And then back at Pritkin.
The eyes narrowed.
But he only said one word. “Why?”
Pritkin licked his lips, as if he’d just realized that yeah, that might not have been a normal response for a hardened slaver. “She’s . . . a virgin.”
The fey barked out a laugh. “I doubt it. But even so, our people don’t care about such things, merely that they’re good breeders. Where’s the harm?”
“I said no—”
“And I say yes. And since she’s just a slave—”
“She’s my slave.”
“Your slave.”
“Yes. I found her. I brought her in. By our laws—”
“They’re not your laws, mutt. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“By your laws, then! That makes her mine. Taking her is theft—”
“You’ll quote the law to us?” the second fey said, sounding almost more incredulous than angry, although the knife hadn’t been sheathed. “I’ll teach you some—”
The first fey held up a hand again, but that was definitely suspicion on his face now. “All right,” he agreed. “Your slave.”
“You can’t be serious,” the other fey began while I felt the muscles in Pritkin’s back relax slightly.
And then tense right back up when the first guard spoke again. “You take her, then.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I could shift, I thought, as Pritkin stared at the fey. My power didn’t feel encouraging, but I didn’t have to move us far. Just outside, just far enough to run—
But even assuming I managed it, Gertie and company would be on us like a pack of bloodhounds, and I had him. I had him. I had Rosier. I had everything I needed. Except for the cursed soul, which could show up any moment.
Pritkin was arguing, telling the fey a bunch of stuff they didn’t care about, because they didn’t believe us. He hadn’t been any more convincing as a callous slave owner than I had as a cowed slave. We needed acting lessons, but we weren’t going to get them. We were going to get something a lot more painful or I was going to shift us out of here, and neither of those outcomes was acceptable.
I slowly went back to my knees.
Pritkin glanced at me, and then did a double take.
I guess he hadn’t expected that.
“With your permission?” I said unsteadily.
Pritkin didn’t say anything, but he looked more than a little off balance. The fey seemed surprised, too, like they’d already decided we were not as advertised, and were just waiting for him to give them the excuse for a different sort of entertainment. But it looked like they’d settle for this one.
The second fey let him go, although he stayed close this time, rather than propping up the wall. The first raised an eyebrow, but it appeared the jury was still out. Because he moved back a little and crossed his arms, instead of attacking or dragging us off somewhere.
I looked up at Pritkin again.
And immediately had a sinking feeling. Because he wasn’t on board with this. His hand was reflexively clenching and unclenching at his side, as if he was still planning to take on two of the queen’s guard single-handedly.
And that . . . wasn’t good. Even if he won, it wouldn’t get us past the wards, or help defeat the dozens of soldiers inside that could quickly be outside. That was the whole point of this—to get weapons to people who could channel the power of entire covens. They might be able to deal with the fey; we couldn’t.
So they had to let us in.
“With your permission?” I repeated, a little more forcefully, nails digging into his thigh.
He still didn’t say anything, but the answer was clearly no. Or, judging from his steadily darkening expression, hell no. And that didn’t make sense.
We’d faced a similar scenario with the Svarestri the last time I was here, and he’d shown no such shyness then. In fact, it had been his idea to use a PDA to distract a guard and get away, and it had worked, more or less. And the less hadn’t had to do with the distraction, but with the fact that Gertie showed up shortly thereafter.
Yet this time, he was furious. I didn’t know why, but I knew him. And hotheadedness had always been a problem for him even in my era, when he’d had centuries to learn to master his temper. He hadn’t had them now, and this Pritkin had always seemed less controlled to me, his emotions closer to the surface, both good and bad.
And bad right now was going to get him killed.
“Please.”
I stared up at him, desperate, pleading, but not able to say the words that might convince him with the fey standing right there. But something seemed to get through. Or maybe he just didn’t see an alternative that didn’t involve razor-sharp implements and our jugulars. He finally nodded tersely, a single up-and-down motion of his chin, and I scooted closer.
And was faced with having to actually live up to my bravado.
“The, uh . . . the tunic?” I gestured at it. “Could you, um . . .”
He jerked it off, along with the layers underneath—another tunic and a long, linen shirt—because of the cold outside. It was cold in here, too. To the point that I could see my breath, that my body was covered in goose bumps, that my knees would probably be knocking if they weren’t all but frozen to the flagstone. The fire from the outer room was too far away to do any good, and if the lanterns gave off any heat, I couldn’t tell.