“Easy. Remember your cover story,” Ferith cautioned.
At this hour, they were already loading the crates of produce onto vehicles, supplies that Ruark had probably paid only a pittance for, demanding it as tribute, as part of his noble entitlement. Pulling his heart out with her bare hands would be too good for him.
She adjusted her expression to match the story they were selling and stepped hesitantly toward the workers.
“Sir? Could I have a moment of your time?”
The man idling near the front of the Rover did a double take when he saw her, so she guessed her disguise must be effective. “You’re a long way from home, miss.”
He thinks I’m Animari. Perfect.
“I have no choice,” she whispered. “My family won’t let me be with the one I love. Even if I die, I have to see him at least once more. Could you help me?”
She got a skeptical look in exchange for her best acting. “What’re you saying?”
“He works in the kitchen at Braithwaite. I’ve tried to get a message in, but it doesn’t send, I’m not sure why.”
The driver spat. “That Ruark Gilbraith is a paranoid bastard. I’m sure he has jammers, controlling messages in and out. Worried about traitors and spies, they say.”
It’s assassins he should fear.
“Well, I just want to see Eldred’s face one last time. I’ll help you unload your boxes in exchange for a ride in. I’ll just speak with him for a moment and leave with you. Isn’t there a way you can help me?”
“Your family disapproves?” the driver guessed.
“His too.”
“They would. But it does seem heartless not to let you say farewell. I suppose that’s why they sent him to work at Braithwaite? Best way to keep you two apart.”
“I know,” she said sadly.
“I’d like to help, I would, but I’d be risking more than my job to smuggle you in, sweetheart. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Thalia widened her eyes, hoping she looked sweet, harmless, guileless. “You need more motivation? Well…I have this. It belonged to my grandmother.” She spread her fingers to reveal the flower pin, sparkling in the sun that was trying to rise above the trees. So far it hadn’t banished the mist.
The driver smiled and plucked it out of her hand. “We have a deal. Put on a hat and some goggles, ride in back and keep your eyes down. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Time was ticking away, and every moment Raff lost, he wouldn’t get back again. Not because he might fuck up and Gavriel might impale him as a result.
His problem was something else entirely. The longer he spent away from Thalia, in bitter, icy silence, the worse he felt. By now he couldn’t even breathe for the panic tightening on his heart. He told himself, she’s fine, she’s probably fine, but not knowing, not having her within arms’ reach might drive him crazy. Already, he was itchy as fuck, pacing like a caged animal in the cold, echoing chamber that felt so lifeless without her.
She might be facing down Ruark Gilbraith right now. Might be dying on his sword. Fuck, she could be a lifeless skull, just like Tirael, atop Gilbraith’s walls. Certain Eldritch customs were just fucking sick; it was absurd they considered the Animari less advanced.
At least we don’t poison each other and train our children as assassins.
Sometimes he could believe the allegation that the Eldritch had bred the Golgoth for battle, eons ago, because both peoples were both brutal and terrifying. The Eldritch just hid it better, behind delicate manners and quiet elegance.
Commander Olwyn stopped him in the hall, his eyes full of questions. “I hear you’ve put the staff on rations. How long can we hold out?”
“I’m not sure. You’d better talk to the chatelaine.”
This is all too fucking heavy. He heard his old man then: “Why are you pretending? You were never good for anything but drinking, fucking up, and running away.”
Sometimes he thought maybe it would be better if his father was dead, because then, maybe he could forgive him. But he’d gone quietly mad instead. Sometimes the old bastard was a half-feral wolf, and sometimes he was a pathetic soul who cried endlessly and asked for Raff’s mother. He couldn’t even hate somebody like that.
It was getting hard to breathe and Olwyn was still talking. More troop questions, more strategic meetings? No fucking way.
Before he made the conscious decision, he was running, out the door and through the hallway. Though it was dark, he could see perfectly well and navigated the labyrinth of corridors to the courtyard, where he demanded they open the gates. The guards didn’t question him, just as well, because he only had a head full of fear and rage, no words to temper his snarls. If they’d thought he was a beast before, his behavior tonight would confirm all their worst doubts.
Better to get out and run, clear his head, and maybe he could get some information from Titus’s people. If Raff was lucky, he might even run into some enemies that he could chew to pieces. Outside the gate, he stripped and tucked his clothes beneath a tumble of stone. It wasn’t even cold enough to make him shiver, and the night was clear, stars glittering overhead like they had somebody to impress.
He didn’t know what shifting felt like to anyone else, but for him, it was a relief, like letting go of the strings that kept him in man-shape. Sometimes Raff thought he was supposed to be a wolf; that was easy and natural. Being a man? Hard as fuck.
In wolf form, he ran, blending into the lengthening shadows. Part of him knew this wasn’t responsible. He should stay put, keep being the tower of power that everyone else could lean on, but he could feel himself unraveling.
If he took a break, he might be able to wait for her. Calmly, with composure. She had to know none of this shit was his strong point, and she’d
