Page 41 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Open your eyes.”
I obey, to discover that I’ve moved toward Leaf, who changed position while my eyes were closed.
“If something happens, I can use my half of the love stone to guide me to its mate. I’ve not tested the range fully, but it worked well on the palace grounds.”
My throat dries. “We won’t need the love stones, Leaf,” I promise, wrapping my arms around her. “Not this time.”
She sets her jaw. “But you will take it anyway.”
“I will take it anyway,” I agree. “But for research purposes. All right?” I wait until she nods before strapping the pouch to my thigh and undoing the latch on the concealed passage leading from Lady Lianna’s rooms. My hand stills. “Leaf... if somethingdoeshappen—it won’t, but if it does—go to Everett, all right? Blackmail Trace if he won’t help outright, but make sure Raza takes you with her.”
As before,the dungeon’s stench greets me well before I finish descending the dark spiral staircase. This time, however, Calvin appears promptly after I ask for him. Taking off a leather apron, he hangs it on a hook before leading me into the dusty room.
“Tea?” he asks.
“No. Thank you.”
“You’ll forgive me if I indulge in a cup while we speak?” I nod and Calvin pours tea for himself and settles into a chair. “How can I be of service?”
Taking a deep breath—and regretting it immediately—I sit across from the questioner. Once I outline the basics of my plan and the information I seek, Calvin nods with understanding.
“The prisoner claims to have met with the others to receive orders about a day’s trek into the North Wood.” He sips his tea. “He claims he could lead someone to the spot.”
“Would you trust him to do so?”
Calvin smiles. “Absolutely not. His only hope for survival would be to lead the man he guided to his death.”
I tap a finger against my knee. “Could he provide a description of key landmarks?”
Another sip of tea. “I expect so. Perhaps you wish to ask him yourself?”
I try and fail to read the thoughts behind Calvin’s deceptively open face, but the words feel like a test. “Do you believe my doing so would elicit more accurate answers?”
He shrugs. “Unlikely.”
“Then why under the bloody stars did you suggest it?”
“Some people come to me for information. Others enjoy the process we use to obtain it. I wished to know which you were after.” He puts down his cup and rises. “I will get the landmarks as well as they can be described for you.” I nod my thanks, my stomach twisting as I realize how bad a day someone is about to have because of my inquiry. Calvin’s gaze seems to penetrate through me. “Perhaps some good can come from this mess yet.”
I nod my head. As the questioner shifts his weight to leave, I gather breath for my final question. “Calvin,” I say quietly, my eyes on his discarded tea as the sight of Trace’s marked torso shimmers through my memory. Those marks didn’t come from battle—they came from a place like this. “Do people recover from what’s done to them here? The ones who are not executed—do they recover?”
“They can,” Calvin says gently. “With help. Who are you concerned about, Kal?”
I shake my head quickly. “Just the prisoner you’re questioning because of me.”
“He’ll be executed soon,” says Calvin. “But you already knew that.”
I leavethe palace a half hour later, slipping into the North Wood just as the trainees back at the keep are finishing up the morning training and wistfully fantasizing about the too-far-off midday meal. The king’s arranged note of Kal’s temporary departure will have already reached the guard master, the message being spread to Trace and Luca, as Kal’s sponsors. I wonder what the men make of it, how relieved Trace is to be rid of me for a spell.
Each step farther from the palace centers me in the forest’s splendor. The smell of sticky sap and moist bark is a welcome change from the reek of manicured flowers and courtiers’ perfumes, to say nothing of chattering squirrels and the occasional woodpecker providing a calmer backdrop than the bloody stinging wasps that the palace seems to breed.
My feet fall silently on the forgiving earth as I navigate the forest, marking the land features. The prisoner told Calvin that he’d followed a stream to a man-sized mossy boulder, where he met his cohorts. The description, together with signs of disturbed branches and moss’s preference to grow on the north side of its host, offers a solid start to my search. I just wish I knew what I was looking for.
I find the prisoner’s stream and boulder five hours into my hike, just as the joy of the wilderness begins surrendering to fatigue. I stop with my hand on the stone, listening to the gurgling water. Someone was here before, recently enough that the boot prints they left in the mud are still clear. But there is little else at this rendezvous point but more bushwhacked trails, leading in different directions.
What did you expect, a flag and a manifesto?
Stifling a sigh, I retreat from the boulder, careful not to add my own boot prints to the mix as I pick a trail at random and follow it west. I’ve two and a half, maybe three hours of sunlight left before I need to settle in for the night.
