Page 82 of Silvercloak

“And they’ll make your life hell if I don’t.” Nissa pressed her lips into a flat line. Her lipstick was smudged at the corner, and her eyes were fuzzy with liquor and pain. Sweat poured down her temples in slick runnels. “So it’s hardly a choice, is it?”

Saff sighed. “The spell-tracing charm. The one forensics have been working on for years. Any significant progress?”

An uncertain beat. “Aspar hasn’t mentioned it in an age, so I suppose not. At her last update, the spell would get distracted while following a trace back to the original wand, and latch onto the shiniest, most exciting one instead. It has a particular penchant for elm.”

Nissa gestured to her own black elm wand, and Saff realized for the first time it was carved from the same wood as Levan’s.I clearly have a type,she thought, before internally recoiling from the idea. She didnotfeel that way toward the kingpin’s son, no matter what her newly enchanted pendant might think.

“Why?” Nissa nudged.

“I need you to get it for me.”

Saffron wasn’t sure how dangerous this play was. There was a chance the tracing charm wouldn’t work on her, since she was magic immune, but could the same be said for her wand? Would it be able to trace theammortencurse that slew Vogolan back to her own knobbly beech?

And yet as she so often was, she was backed into a corner. No other options, no less perilous paths. If she didn’t procure the charm, Lyrian would strike fast and hard.

“The charm?How?” Nissa replied, aghast. “It’s under—”

“Lock and key. I know.”

“Who wants it?” Nissa picked up the nearest tumbler and examined it for any lingering flamebrandy. There was none, so she caught a young, handsome bartender’s attention across the room and held up two fingers. They had deep Eqoran skin and long glossy hair like Nissa’s. At Nissa’s summons, they smiled at her flirtatiously and nodded.

“The kingpin. One of his top men was murdered.”

The fewer people who knew it was at Saffron’s hand, the better. Even people she could trust. Because though Nissa was hardened against torture, the same could not be said for truth elixir. Saffron was the only mage she knew of who could resist that.

Until Levan, of course. She’d yet to unpack how he’d managed to overpower it.

The handsome bartender brought the two flamebrandies over, setting them down on the table alongside a small scrap of parchment. The note read:et vocos Rababi Äin.An invitation to call them.

“Hells,” muttered Nissa. She was a few years older than Saff, having just turned thirty, and there were the beginnings of crinkles around her eyes. A shallow notch between her brows. The last few weeks had aged her, and Saff felt equal parts guilty and touched. “I’ll try my best, but I’m not promising anything.” Something glittered in those dragonesque eyes as she glanced from Saff to the note and back again. “Meet you here same time next week? Leaked intel and a quick fuck?”

Saffron laughed. “I thought you didn’t want to bedistractedby me.” She threw mocking air quotes around the word, before mimicking Nissa’s own words: “The best Silvercloaks cut off sentimentality at the root.”

Nissa shrugged. “Fucking isn’t sentimental. Don’t let it go to your head. It’s just that all the danger is making me more attracted to you.”

Saffron’s heart darkened. “Trust me, if you saw the brand up close, you would not want to fuck me.” It throbbed in response, like a second heartbeat, even though she’d applied salve mere hours earlier.

A curious smile. “For what it’s worth, I’ll always want to fuck you.” Nissa stood up, leaned in, and kissed Saff on the cheek, a warm, tingling kiss that lingered a second longer than it should have. A kiss that suggested she wanted more than just to fuck. “I’ll try to have the charm for you next week.”

Then Nissa was gone, and Saff was left alone to finish her flamebrandy. It scorched down her gullet like molten candle wax. Which, incidentally, reminded her of Nissa’s bedroom. Sadism, indeed.

As Saff got up to leave, another familiar face entered the Jaded Saint, scanning the room as if to find someone.

Tiernan.

He was dressed in his silver cloak, proudly pinned at his throat with the sapphire brooch Saffron had dreamed of for so long. His curls were a mess atop his head, and he squinted despite his thick-rimmed glasses. When his gaze found Saff, his shoulders sagged with relief.

She pushed through the throngs of intoxicated bodies and smiled reassuringly at him.

“Saff,” he said, throwing his arms around her. He was a couple of inches shorter than her, and his hair tickled her cheek. “Thank the Saints.”

“Everything alright?” she asked carefully, pulling away, keeping her guard up.

“I’m so sorry about last week.” He rushed the words out so fast they crashed into one another. “I’ve stewed on it for seven straight days, and … god, I was avock.” Saff laughed;vockwas a crude Bellandrian word for a male appendage. “I understand, you know. The reason you lied about your accreditation … I’d do anything to make my parents proud.” He raked his hand through his messy hair. “You were just doing the same, weren’t you? And it’s even harder for you because they’re gone. And I’msorry.”

Something frozen thawed slightly in Saff’s chest. “I forgive you.”

“Are you alright? That should have been my first and only question.”

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