We thought you’d left us, a tiny voice whispers in her head, a tinkling bell that almost gets lost in the rush of the wind. Then, a familiar, tingling sensation begins as magic sizzles to life in her veins once more, like a lid has been ripped away from an overfilled jar. Power ripples around Helena’s body, slowing her speed until she floats toward the earth like an autumn leaf gracefully descending from its branch. When her feet hit the ground safely, Helena shouts a stream of curses and obscenities up to the snickering guard at the top of the ramparts.
“Flattery, Helena, gets you nowhere!” Ithel calls back, desperately trying to tamp down the relief billowing through his heart as her irate voice filters up to him on the breeze. “Keep it up, and I’ll become even more diabolical. You’ll thank me if you survive. Now get back up here without your powers!”
“I hate you!” Helena shouts back, pure rage urging her to climb. Her bloody fingerprints stain the side of the palace, but she does not feel anything but fury. “I am going to kill you!” she rasps, using the ever-growing rage to fuel her ascent.
“I will welcome my demise with open arms,” Ithel answers softly as he wipes his bloody blade on his pants. “After this week ends, I will probably be a friend of Death anyway.” The thought of watching Helena die in the tunnel plagues Ithel’s mind. He imagines her dying a thousand different ways, and in these fevered dreams, he sees his own final moments too. “You don’t realize it, but I really am trying to help you,” Ithel confesses in a whisper that fades away on the wind long before it ever can reach Helena’s ears. “You don’t know how much I love you still. Even after you betrayed me. Even after you left me to rot in this hellhole. Even after you chose someone else. I love you still, Helena. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure you survive.”
***
“You sent for me?” Wren questions as he steps through the doorway into the pristine kitchens of the House of Piranhas. Someone had been busy this afternoon, and a pot of fish stew simmers on the stove, the pleasant aromas assaulting Wren’s nose. However, despite its tantalizing scent, Wren cannot focus on food. The sun had fallen from the sky hours ago, and with each passing breath, Wren worries over Lynx and her son. Did they make it past the guards? Are they safe out there alone? What if they encounter hostile nameless unchosen? Can they find their way to the Pith from here without a guide?
“Yes, Wren. I believe we have some business to discuss.” Wolf points to the chair beside him at the long driftwood table, his voice as cold as the first winter snow. “I was hoping we could talk strategy and set up some rules for handling misguided allegiance.”
He knows, Wren suspects, immediately reevaluating his strategy. Unease stiffens Wren’s legs, yet he disguises his fear easily. He saunters over to the chair and drops into a relaxed position, forcing his arms to remain uncrossed. Everyone always believed Wren had otherworldly powers of deception. Wren smiles easily at the memory, using the emotion to make him appear approachable. It’s all a matter of body language, he laughs to himself. A lie’s words are only half the deception; I’ve got to play the part. Keep my eyes and ears open for anything I can use to downplay Wolf’s suspicions.
“What’s got you smiling?” Wolf barks, inspecting Wren’s expression closely.
“I was just imagining my old House mates’ faces if they could see us together, discussing plans like old friends.” Partial truth to hide the lie. Wren smiles wider when he sees Wolf nod, convinced by Wren’s explanation enough to stop asking about it. Wren uses the advantage to open the dialogue, intending to appear innocent. “You mentioned earlier that you wanted a way to trap Iris.” Sometimes I even frighten myself with this act. Wren suppresses a shudder as he speaks of hurting the girl. While he’d go through the motions stoically, the idea of attacking anyone from his former house fills his heart with dread. “Are you wanting to kill her or just drive her back here to your arms?”
“Actually, I’m more interested in your strategy right now, Wren,” Wolf replies, pointing to the door. Jackal stands with his arms crossed, and between his feet lies a limp, distinctly female body. Wren’s blood turns to ice as Wolf continues. “My commander informs me that you instructed Lynx to return to the Ddraigs. He overhead your plans to let her take her son and leave the House, reuniting with the traitors to my rule.” Wolf lifts his gaze until his eyes bore into Wren in a challenge. “Jackal made it sound like you even know where they will be hiding. Have you been keeping secrets from me?”
Don’t panic, Wren assures himself, shaking his head and releasing the air pent up in his lungs as a plan takes shape. “Jackal! You bloody fool!” Wren uses his fear to spur him into acting furious. He stalks over to the wide-eyed commander and punches him hard enough to crack his mask. “How could you be so stupid?”
“I…I don’t understand,” Jackal stutters, one hand rubbing his jaw. “What are you talking about?”
“It was meant to be a trap!” Wren huffs, turning so that Wolf can witness one of Wren’s finest performances. His voice does not falter as he skillfully crafts his lie. “I mean, doesn’t it seem strange that Iris and the rest of the glorified thieves would leave one woman behind?”
“You’re thinking she’s already a spy for the Ddraigs?” Wolf fills in the blanks, lowering his eyes to the shivering woman. “A mother and child would be unlikely—”
“Exactly,” Wren interrupts,
