The Traitor's Kiss (Traitor's Trilogy #1)

“Sage, please, I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. Only truth from now on—I promise.”


How could he think that promise meant anything? “I don’t want your truth. I hate it.” Her voice sounded dead to her own ears. “I hate you.”

“I’ll say it anyway: I love you, Sage Fowler. Of everything I’ve said and done, that is truth.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the worst. Her left hand no longer restrained, she drew back and slapped him across the face with all her might.





59

SAGE IGNORED CASSECK’S and Gramwell’s apologetic smiles as she brushed past them into the room. She didn’t hate them, though—all of the blame rested on the captain, who now pulled a chair around the table. He gestured for her to sit, which Sage did without looking at him. She’d refused to go back to her room. Maybe it was defiance; maybe it was loyalty to Darnessa and Clare. Maybe she just couldn’t stand to be left out. But when he offered to release her from any part in their plans, she’d simply turned her back on him and walked to the meeting room door.

The lieutenants stood silently on the opposite side of the table as Quinn seated himself beside her. They acknowledged her as one of their own and not like some pet as she feared they would, though perhaps their deference was inspired by the fading red handprint on their captain’s cheek.

What she learned was frightening. The 130 men she’d heard about were in fact 200 Kimisar soldiers, though at least ten had been killed. As Quinn showed her how the squads were arranged around them, her mind made a connection.

“Their commander is here.” She pointed to a group near the pass. Everyone stared at her.

“What makes you say that?” asked Quinn.

“That morning I was on the wall, a trained hawk circled that spot before landing. It came in from the south.”

“How do you know it wasn’t just a regular hawk?” Quinn asked. In response, she raised an eyebrow, and he snorted humorlessly. “Right. A fowler would know.”

Most of the meeting was devoted to refining the soldiers’ response if the duke acted before the sickness hit. Her responsibility would be to gather and hide the ladies, and if they were taken, to be alert for a rescue attempt. So after everything she’d done for Quinn, he wanted her to sit on the side and watch. “I can do more,” she argued. “As a woman I can provide … unique distractions.”

Quinn waved her idea aside. “I leave it to you to have a fainting spell as necessary, but we’re talking about battle, Sage.”

Somehow her name on his lips was an insult; he had no right to address her so casually. Sage crossed her arms. “I’m talking about battle. D’Amiran’s guards are as lecherous as they come. We can use that to our advantage.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it.” Casseck and Gramwell shifted uncomfortably. “Besides,” he continued with a meaningful look, “you promised to follow orders, as I recall.”

“And you promised…” She faltered. An awkward silence fell as the lieutenants looked everywhere but at their captain. Sage pinched her upper arm to anchor herself. She would not cry. Not here. Her fingernails dug into her flesh through both jacket and shirt, but she maintained her composure.

“Mistress Sage,” Lieutenant Casseck said, “this is what we need from you. It’s truly important, and it leaves a man free to fight.”

Sage squeezed harder as she turned to Casseck. His expression was open, honest. For the sake of that honesty, she backed down, but she remained silent for the rest of the meeting.

Gramwell left when dismissed, but Casseck stayed behind.

“I need to check on a few things before taking her back,” Quinn said. “Can you wait with her?”

Casseck nodded.

Once Quinn was gone, Casseck pulled up a chair and sat facing her, but didn’t speak. After a full minute, she asked, “How long have I been involved in this?”

“Since the night he met you,” Casseck said. “The code name for the first agent to go into a situation is ‘Mouse,’ because he’s supposed to be the crumb catcher no one notices. But you saw him, and that changed things.”

Her hands clenched under the table. He’d used her from the first day. “Did I have a code name, too?”

“He called you Starling.”

Starling. A useless, annoying bird that gabbled all its secrets.

Casseck watched her fight back tears. “It was never easy for him to lie,” he said. “In fact, as time went on, the harder the act wore on him.”

“What’s done is done,” Sage said dully. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything. “If he hadn’t been playing the Mouse, you might never have realized what was going on.” He nodded, and they were quiet again. Finally, she said, “I remember Mouse being mentioned during the meeting—you talked about him like he wasn’t there.”

“That’s a spy tactic. It throws off anyone who might overhear and alleviates confusion about who is doing what, as who, and what everyone’s relationships are.” Casseck scooted his chair closer and put his elbows on the table, plainly relieved to address something professional. “The habit is also useful to those who change identities. It keeps the personas separate in their own mind, makes it easier to take one off and put the other on.”

The implication made her feel sick. I love you, Sage Fowler. Which was the person who’d said that? Did it even matter? One person was a lie and the other she hated.

Casseck shook his head as if reading her thoughts. “No, Mistress Sage, I’m his oldest friend, and I can tell you—”

The door opened and Sage and Casseck nearly jumped out of their seats as Quinn walked in. He looked from face to face before striding to the door of the bunk room. “Whatever you were about to say, Lieutenant, keep it to yourself.”

Casseck shrugged sheepishly at Sage.

Quinn returned a few seconds later, stuffing something into the breast of his jacket. “Things look clear enough to take you back.” He stalked out the door without waiting for her. Sage glanced at Casseck before pushing back her chair and following.

“Sage,” Casseck called, and she paused to look back. “Just … go easy on him.” He grinned a little. “Or at least don’t hit him again.”

Captain Quinn waited for her in the passage. “Nice chat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Very informative,” she answered coolly.

“Anything you want to say to me?”

“No, I think I’ve expressed myself enough for one night.”

He rubbed his cheek. “I deserved that.”

“At least we agree on something.” She felt a little satisfaction, but she also knew he was fast enough to have ducked the blow. He’d let her hit him.

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