Fire Wolf Page 17

  He offered her his arm. “Oh, nonsense. After all, I’ve seen you at your worst. I think that makes us old friends now. No hard feelings, of course. Everyone loses their head sometimes.”

  Lose her head? No hard feelings? She looked at his arm, then back at his face, pondering whether she could get away with punching the smile right off his face.

  No treaty, no peace, no supplies, she reminded herself.

  Although she felt like she was selling her soul to a demon, she slipped her arm through his, pressed her palm to the sleeve of his bicep, and allowed him to lead her into the hall.

  Every fiber in her body begged for Skye to save her.

  As they entered the hall, she searched the many faces for her friend, and when she found him, her chest tightened. Skye sat in the far corner, picking at his supper with one hand while he chatted and laughed with Alena Bell. He wasn’t touching her, but why wasn’t he with Cal and his family, per usual? Why would he be sitting with her?

  Myah bit her lip and closed her eyes, allowing Phillip to guide her across the room. When she reopened them—seeking out Skye again to make sure she hadn’t hallucinated—her attention caught another pair of eyes. Garrett, from his place four seats down from Skye. The Osten soldier held her gaze all the way to the table at the front of the hall, where her uncle and mother sat. His eyes danced like fire again, and Myah shuddered. She quickly reminded herself it was nothing but a trick of the light.

  Caitlyn stood, greeting Lord Phillip when they reached the table much the same way she often greeted Myah after an absence. When Phillip slipped past to take a seat beside her uncle, Caitlyn looked at Myah pointedly and arched one of her brows.

  “Did you apologize?” her mother whispered.

  Myah smiled and spoke through gritted teeth, “I will when he does.”

  Her mother harrumphed with disapproval, a state Myah was content to live with.

  But Skye and Alena?

  Myah stole a glance at them as Alena laughed and leaned her body toward her friend. Her hand slid down the sleeve of his tunic as her mouth formed words Myah couldn’t hear.

  The sight of them together sent jealousy slicing through her heart.

  ~*~

  From the corner of the banquet hall, Myah fixed her gaze on Lord Phillip. Wherever he went, she scurried in the opposite direction. At least, for the moment, he was occupied in conversation with Lord Ardent. Small blessings, she thought.

  Skye cut across her field of vision, holding Alena in his arms as they danced. Her body was flush with his. His arm securing her lower back while their other hands intertwined. Nausea crept up her throat, making her as ill as she felt when enduring Lord Phillip’s presence. She knew Skye was angry with her, but the fact that he would stoop so low as to intentionally hurt her confused her. This was not the Skye she knew, the Skye who stole kisses and protected her without a second thought to himself. Why was he with Alena tonight?

  “You shouldn’t scowl like that. People will think you’re jealous.” Warm breath tickled her neck, sending a prickling sensation down her spine. She could feel when Garrett moved away because a chilly void replaced his radiating heat.

  A shiver rolled through her body, followed by apprehension and fear, but Myah kept watching the couple. “I’m not jealous.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” Garrett’s voice had a ring of humor to it.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. His back was pressed to the wall, his arms over his chest. He had traded in the leather vest and arm gauntlets for a soft green tunic that came up to his chin. Gold thread embroidered the collar, reminding Myah of a flame. The fabric hid the bulk of his scars on the left side of his body, leaving only the discolored flesh on his ear and jawline visible. The lines of his face were as sharp as his eyes, and his coloring, the black hair and olive skin, placed his lineage more in Morgensol than Ost. His left hand, she noted, was also covered in a single olive-tone glove, nearly the same shade as his skin, where his right hand remained uncovered. He had purposefully hidden the discolored flesh.

  “Did you want something?” she asked.

  He pulled away from the wall, turning so that he was half behind her and half visible to the rest of the room.

  A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach.

  “Just curious whether you took my advice,” he said.

  Myah had taken his advice, although she loathed to admit it. When the Ostens left the practice fields, she practiced the shield techniques, channeling them using the weaver stone. To her surprise, the shields formed almost effortlessly, and it only took a little practice to form a shield around the area of her targets. The blustering wind had come to a dead stop. The new technique made calculating the winds unnecessary, though she was perfectly capable of doing so. However, sometimes the weather got the best of even the most skilled archers; using the weaver stone would come in handy.

  “I did.” Myah returned her attention to the dancing. “Thank you for the stone. I can return it whenever you wish.”

  “Consider it a gift,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t have any use for it and pink isn’t really my color.”

  Myah choked back an unexpected laugh. Was he making jokes? “I find pink a rather handsome color.”

  “Didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just not my color.”

  “Dare I ask who it belonged to before you gave it to me?”

  “A friend.” Garrett skirted to her side and raised his gloved hand, palm up. He offered it to Myah. “Would you like to dance?”

  Myah swallowed. Her heart fluttered in her chest, as quickly as a hummingbird beating its wings. Her breath hitched. Her mind flashed to that day in the woods as he hovered over her in the creek bed.

  She fought the urge to step away from him; she did not want to cause another scene. “I don’t think—” she whispered, swallowing back the fear threatening to overwhelm her.

  “Please?” He faced her.

  Her hands trembled. “Why-why should I?” she stuttered.

  “Curiosity?” he offered.

  “And what would I be curious about?”

  He leaned forward. “Why I came to Nordlin.”

  She stiffened and glared at him. “If you intend to—”

  “I don’t intend anything, Lady Leicht … except to dance with you.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “You won’t.”

  “No?”

  “No.” A half smile touched the corner of his mouth, relaxing the hard lines of his face. He extended his hand again to her. “It will make him jealous.”

  Hesitating only a moment, she took it.

  Garrett led her through the crowd, weaving around bodies congregating at the edge of the room, and out onto the floor as a slow melody began. Other couples danced as Myah dipped into a curtsy, her eyes on the floor. When she rose, looking up, Garrett’s hand waited for her once more. She slipped her fingertips into his, and he pulled her to him. His gloved hand settled on the small of her back and his right folded over hers. The touch of his skin to hers made her palm prickle. She looked up at him, finding the tip of his chin and amber eyes, which swirled with hints of gold, as he led her backward and around until they were traveling the floor in a circle with the other couples to the soft, hypnotic spell of the violins.

  “He’s watching,” Garrett whispered with a smile.

  When he smiled, she thought, he wasn’t nearly as frightening.

  “Who?” she asked. She would take Skye watching her, but Phillip? That man was a tragedy of errors disguised as a comedy. She felt Garrett’s body jostle with laughter.

  “Skye Lamar,” he said. A moment later, he leaned closer. “And Lord Phillip.” He raised his arm, spinning her twice before bringing her back to his arms.

  “I don’t like your Lord Phillip.”

  “Would you like to know a secret?” he offered.

  She tilted her head, trying to puzzle him out. Mischief gleamed in his eyes. “All right.”

  “I don’t like him eith
er,” he said conspiratorially. “Phillip is pompous, but he is the queen’s nephew …”

  “He’s done nothing but engage in small talk since he arrived,” she added. “And whenever I try to say anything related to the treaty, he shushes me like I couldn’t possibly have a thought in my head worth mentioning.” That had rankled her more than having to put up with the man’s advances.

  “You like politics?” Garrett asked, before spinning her out the length of his arm.

  As she spun back in, his arms wrapped around her, bringing her back to his chest so she faced away from him. “No one likes politics,” she said, pausing in the hold a few seconds longer than was customary. Her body screamed at her to step away. He twirled her to face him. “But I will lead Nordlin one day. Politics are part of the job—along with protecting my people.”

  The violins picked up, quickening the pace.

  “And you fear I’m here to hurt you.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “I’m here to protect the heir to the throne. Nothing more.”

  “So you being here has nothing to do with … with what happened in Oasisian?”

  He spun her again, before drawing her close, so close he could whisper in her ear. “Lady Leicht, if I had wanted you dead, you would already be so.”

  “That’s a comfort,” she retorted as he relaxed his embrace.

  “It should be.”

  A few measures later, the music stopped. Myah felt breathless, heated as they finished. She fanned her face even as Garrett offered his arm. She took it. As they left the floor, she noticed a few people staring, then a few others, until she found Skye glaring at her. Alena chatted endlessly, not noticing his divided attention. Myah tried not to smile. Garrett had been right.

  Myah looked up at her companion. She hadn’t had much opportunity to assess him, not with them constantly surrounded by people. “Would you like to take a walk?” The words were out of her mouth before she could second-guess them. She should not be alone with him, but he puzzled her. Just because he claimed not to be a threat to her didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat to Nordlin.

  “As you wish.” Garrett’s soft voice wrapped around her like a caress as he angled them toward the door. His manner was in stark contrast to that day in the forest, she thought.

  The reminder sent a wave of anxiety rolling through her. She felt too hot, too enclosed, too trapped. She took a deep breath as they entered the deserted hallways, the cooler air filling her chest, easing the tinges of fear tickling at her. The torches illuminating the walls cast everything in a yellow-orange tint. Black smoke billowed from the torches, dispersing through the windows and into the cloak of night.

  “Here,” she directed, pointing to a carved archway that exited from the hall. “It’s one of the entrances to the garden maze.”

  Crossing the threshold gave Myah an immediate view of the sky above, dotted with pinpricks of light until the spots became so thick that they formed a gray swash against the night sky that could only be seen during the dark moons.

  She followed the path until they came to the first of the fountains. Myah sat on one of the benches across from it. Her fingers fidgeted with the folded fabric of her skirt, giving her an outlet to the anxiety she felt at being alone with him. He seemed to pick up on her discomfort, because he remained standing a moment longer before finally turning to explore the area.

  A sea of questions swirled through her as she watched him, some ridiculous, others important. But something tickled her mind, a sense that he was more than a mere soldier. Garrett carried himself with the air of nobility.

  And he wasn’t much other than she was.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to command the guard?”

  “Aren’t you a bit young to be committing robbery?” His back was to her, but she could see his fingers slide over the smooth petals of a pink flower, one of the winter bloomers that dotted the mostly bare gardens.

  “I’m eighteen,” she defended. “I’m not that young.”

  “And I’m twenty-one and have been trained with a sword since I was four. I’m sure you can agree that skill bears no relation to age.”

  She frowned. He had a point.

  Garrett shot her a look over his shoulder before circling around the fountain, away from the white trees, to where the sky opened up above the hedges. His chin lifted as he searched the stars.

  “Was military training part of your house traditions?” she probed. Not once had his house been named in any of the introductions, which was odd since everyone had a house, common and noble born alike. “The Leichts have a long history of spellweavers in the family,” she continued, in an effort to fill the silence. She chewed the inside of her lip, resisting the urge to speak further, but unable to take his quiet resistance of her questions. “We trained at the academy in the City of Kings for generations.”

  “Most spellweavers trained there. It’s not a surprise your family would as well, especially with your ties to the Esparrows.”

  Myah frowned. He had evaded her question.

  “Any spellweavers in your family?”

  He shrugged. “Some.”

  “But they had you learn to fight?” she pushed.

  “I’m sure they were hedging their bets.” He sighed, turning around. “Not everyone is a spellweaver. Caitlyn isn’t; Edgar is. Plus, not everyone is born to privilege. Some of us have to earn our positions.”

  “I was not—” she started indignantly.

  “Aren’t you the heir?”

  “Well, yes,” she snapped, “but only because my aunt, Kenna, Edgar’s wife, died in childbirth along with the boy. Otherwise, I would just be Caitlyn’s daughter. My early years weren’t exactly extravagant.”

  “But you could still claim the safety of your house,” he pointed out. He sat down on the bench beside her, and her muscles reflexively tightened as if to shy away. “The name of Leicht holds power, just as the name Ashen is usually met with disdain.”

  “And you can’t say the same? Surely you have a house, family, that protects you?” she asked.

  “Not that I speak of.” His voice was a whisper in the still night.

  “Why, did they find you unworthy?” she joked, convinced he was deliberating avoiding her questions.

  “No, my house is unworthy of me,” he said.

  That was not what she had been expecting.

  “I find you baffling.”

  He laughed quietly. “I get that a lot.”

  “If you don’t want to blackmail me, then what do you want?” she pushed.

  He leaned forward as if to get a better look at her in the moonlight. “To test a theory.”

  “And what is your conclusion?” She was curious now, much less afraid, although still untrusting.

  “Undetermined …”

  She puzzled him? Most of the time she was certain she infuriated people, not intrigued them. Although, Myah would admit he was a bit of a puzzle too. He had tried to kill her, and then let her go; he showed up in Nordlin but had no plans of betraying her actions to her uncle or the Ashens. What did he really want?

  She rubbed her furrowed brow, trying to chase away the rising ache. It had been a long day; fatigue reminded her of the hour.

  “GARRETT!”

  Myah stilled as Garrett let out a string of curses under his breath. His amber eyes flashed like sparks, putting her further on edge.

  “Where are you, you miserable son of a gutter witch?”

  Phillip.

  Garrett’s warm hands pressed her shoulders. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face as he whispered, “Stay quiet and stay hidden until we’re gone. He sounds drunk.”

  “But—” she tried to argue.

  “Thank you for the dance, Lady Leicht,” he said quietly, and then he was gone. Lost in the darkness, his deep voice served as the only indication of his location.

  “I’m right here, you blackguard.”

  “Who are you calling a—?”

  “You, you fool.�
��

  The bushes rustled to her right, but she could hear as Garrett led him, rather noisily, out of the gardens.

  ~TWENTY~

  Garrett seethed with frustration as he wound his way through the lower city. The steep, winding roads, gave way to flatter thoroughfares the farther he descended from the castle on the hill.

  The lower city was a mesh of half-timber houses, with the exposed beams painted in dark browns or blacks, and white stone structures, all accented by red cobblestone and rough-hewn wooden accents. Lamps were lit at each corner, and in the squares where four, or sometimes five, roads converged. This section of the city reminded him of the old quarter of Oasisian, where some of the poorest in the four kingdoms had once lived. Nordlin’s old section appeared to have been kept up, but it still swelled with people, who bathed too infrequently for his taste, and reeked of a latrine.

  Still, it was a reminder of home, as unwelcome as every moment he was forced to indulge Lord Phillip. He was a disgrace to the house of Ashen, and Garrett wondered what the former high lord, Einar, would have made of his bumbling nephew. Given that Einar had valued strength, courage, and ingenuity, Garrett often envisioned the sorry heir trussed up with a rope by the neck, dangling from the gallows at the entrance to the city of Turris. A smile touched his lips at the thought.

  Garrett turned down a narrow stairway between two shops. Thick ivy clung to the exposed timber in the walls and climbed from the base of the buildings to wrap around the exposed ends of the roof’s trusses. It made the space pitch black and hard to navigate at night, but he had found it was the fastest way to the lowest street that led out of the city—and he had mentally mapped the city over the last few days. Just in case. He didn’t trust the Nordliners any more than he trusted Queen Elysia and that snake of a nephew.

  He trusted only two living souls in the world—Oren and Lyulf—and neither were at hand.

  Garrett merged with the crowd of bodies milling near the gate. Somewhere nearby, a man sang, loudly and off-key, the ballad of the ancients—a mournful tale of how the first spellweavers were stripped of elemental magic for abusing their power. Garrett had always found that particular song obnoxious more than poignant, but maybe that was because he saw the world differently. The last thing a spellweaver needed was more power to destroy; he couldn’t imagine the horrors Elysia would unfold with the gift of the elements.