Page 73 of Heart of Shadows

54

RAGNAR

Ragnar sat in the corner of the dingy inn. He puffed on his pipe, nursing his flagon of ale. He had purposefully slumped in the seat, eyes unfocused and dazed, as though he were already filled with drink, but his mind followed every conversation within reach. That afternoon, he had gone from inn to inn, soaking up the gossip that ran rampant and unchecked away from the ears of the city guard.

It was just his luck to be the most inconspicuous of them all. Brand, the giant Aerian, would stick out, as would Erika with her unusual attire. Then there was Aedon and his well-known reputation. To the humans and elves of Tournai, one dwarf was much like another. Ragnar played to it as much as he could with a generic cloak and none of his usual beard embellishments or hints to his identity.

Wrapped in that dark cloak, as anonymous as the rest of the patrons, he listened for any mention of Harper. He did not hear her name, but the theft of a secret, most magical treasure and the ensuing capture of the thief could be no coincidence. It’s got to be her, he thought, his heart sinking the more he heard. They were too late.

It was almost impossible to walk as though he were drunk, bumbling and stumbling from the city to return to the others. He longed to run, but it would be too suspicious, so he endured the laughs and jeers of the guards as they taunted him and slammed the gate shut so quickly behind him it stung his backside. He ambled into the dark countryside away from the city. Only when he was away from the lights of the towering walls did he break into a jog, savouring deep breaths of the pure air. Time was of the essence. It did not take long to find them tucked up in a vacant shepherd’s hut, and even less to relay the day’s events.

“We’re too late,” Aedon said, adding to Ragnar’s own trepidation.

“Aye,” he replied, slumping down beside the paltry fire.

“She is probably in captivity as we speak.”

Erika pursed her lips. “She will be suffering the worst treatment, especially if they have seen the mark on her bracelet.”

“And whose fault is that?” Aedon snapped. “You’re the reason this blew up, that she is where she is. If you hadn’t been so high and damnably mighty, she wouldn’t be in such danger.”

Erika did not return his scowl, frowning at the ground. Ragnar knew she believed Aedon was right, though she would not admit it.

Brand ruffled his wings, making the shadows dance across the half-fallen walls. “We are all to blame. We all could have managed this better.”

Aedon ruffled his hair. “We have to rescue her somehow. I can’t bear to think what they must be doing to her, how much she’s suffering at their hands.” He shook his head and shuddered. “I know it seems futile, but it’s our fault she’s in there. Damn the stone, but we cannot abandon her. She needs us even more now.”

“Of course,” said Ragnar. “But where can we find her? How? Will she have even made it to the castle? Tournai is so big, it will be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Aedon rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He slowly turned to Ragnar. “Please tell me you did not throw away her knife.”

Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “It’s in my pack. Why?” He couldn’t bear to, truth be told, even though it was most certainly not worth salvaging. He rummaged for it and held it out to Aedon. The handle was burnt and cracked, and the blade dulled.

Aedon’s face split into a huge grin, and he clapped Ragnar on the shoulder, surprising him. “Divining. We can find her with it. Like calls to like. It will lead us right to her.”

“How certain are you?” asked Brand.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Aedon took the knife from him and held it out across both palms.

55

HARPER

Harper felt her eyes drifting shut as another wave of exhaustion threatened to take her. She blinked furiously and straightened in her chair, determined not to be vulnerable in Dimitrius’s presence. He felt like a predator—and she, the prey. Dimitrius smirked as though he knew exactly what she thought of him.

His attention turned to the bottle of wine between them, and he made a small sound of disapproval. “I rather prefer the red to finish. One moment.” He slipped from the chair and took the bottle to a side-table where a rack held many other bottles. He perused them at leisure, tapping a bottle here, pulling one out there.

Harper’s eyes darted to her place setting. There were five different types of knives. Holding her breath, she slipped the middle knife from the table—the one with a serrated edge and a sharp point—and tucked it up her sleeve, wedging it in with another fold of the loose fabric. The cold metal implement burned against her arm. She did not move, did not react, as he returned with another dark bottle, and poured out a measure for them both.

Dimitrius raised his glass to her. She watched him guardedly. What was this? What was she supposed to do? He wasn’t holding it out to her, just holding it in the middle of the table. His expression faltered. “Cheers,” he said, and took a sip of his wine. “You can drink it, you know. It’s not poisoned. You don’t have to wait on ceremony.”

Harper picked up the crystal flute between her forefingers and thumb like him. It felt so delicate that it would shatter if she clenched her fist around it. The ruby wine looked uncomfortably like blood, and she wanted to recoil from drinking it—but he watched her. She would not baulk. The small sip coated her tongue in rich, tangy liquid that was not at all unpleasant. “Oh!” She hid the exclamation poorly under a clearing of her throat and put the glass roughly down on the table. To her relief, he did not remark upon it.

“Come. Let’s enjoy the evening air.” Dimitrius stood and took both of their wine glasses in hand. He looked back at her and cocked an eyebrow expectantly. She shoved back the chair and followed him through a set of tall, carved, wooden doors out onto a stone balcony.

Harper shivered—the night had dropped cold with the promise of autumn’s coming, and after a warm bath and a hot meal, she had grown contented and sleepy. It was just what she needed to banish that and reclaim her alertness. She followed him warily, scanning their surroundings—and all the while the knife hung hidden in her sleeve, a heavy cool weight against her skin.

Dimitrius set down both glasses on the edge of the balcony of ornate stone and leaned against it, looking down at the city below. In the darkness, it was warm and welcoming with pricks of light shining from every window in a carpet of light that blanketed down to the edge of the city. Beyond the walls, the land lay, a strip of inky black under the open heavens, where paltry clouds chased across a backdrop of stars. The balcony was empty and dark, the door behind them throwing out warmth and light. Harper drifted closer to the edge, glancing down on the pretence of admiring the view.

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