Page 61 of Thorn Season
So I smothered my specter and, with it, my desires. Releasing a long, hissing exhale, I walked in Keil’s direction.
He remained in the center of the threshold, deliberately leaving little space on either side as my approaching shadow stretched over him.
Did he know I was searching for the compass? Could I even be surehewas? Right now, I couldn’t be sure of anything. But I knew, as his eyes glimmered with victory and soft chandelier light, that he believed he’d won this battle. And my specter tingled to meet the challenge.
So instead of squeezing gracelessly around him like he wanted me to, I stopped squarely before him. We faced each other under the arch, shadows lapping around us, music from the Games Hall tinkling far away.
Keil raised a brow.
Then I leaned forward—shoulders high, chin angled up—drawing almost as close we’d been in Carmen’s closet. Certainly close enough to get a fresh lungful of the soap-and-linen scent that had rubbed off into my hair.
And from the way Keil’s breath snagged, I would’ve bet that my perfume had rubbed off on him, too.
“Sleep well, Ambassador.” I slipped sideways around him, tilting my neck, giving him a second drink of my scent. His body turned with me, as if pulled by a magnet. I smiled the moment his gaze touched my lips. Then I turned up the stairs, brushing against his chest—relishing that his body shifted automatically with mine again. Without a backward glance, I echoed, “Don’t let me keep you awake.”
The Bolting Box was gone the next morning. Worse—I’d forgotten to relock Carmen’s dresser drawer, and now those shipping documents were missing, too. Carmen must have realized someone had rifled through her chambers, and she’d known exactly what to hide. I was thankful for one small mercy: She couldn’t possibly link me to the break-in.
Then, as I was hanging up last night’s outfit, I noticed what had snagged Carmen’s sharp attention in the Games Hall. And a slow, icy horror trickled down my spine.
Because caught in the crystal bodice of my gown, swaying with every stir of movement, was a little pink feather. A feather I must have accidentally torn from the boa in Carmen’s closet.
A feather she must have recognized as hers.
18
Garret should have been here by now.
My foottap-tap-tapped on the pebble path, the gardens rustling in the chilly night air. I shivered, still dressed in a sheer turquoise gown. Though today was Grayday, the day we halted Rose Season celebrations to remember our past monarchs, Erik had insisted on hosting me for a first dinner together.
I’d been so focused on my mask of effortless charm that I’d hardly touched the hot, crispy potatoes or chestnut-stuffed quail. Similarly occupied during the fruit course, I’d only remembered to eat when Erik had handed me segments of his clementine between his own bites—a seemingly unconscious generosity, and one I hadn’t understood until he’d asked what dish I would prefer next time, since I’d barely eaten tonight’s.
I’d faltered, surprised by his notice. By his concern that I might not feel content or comfortable—and his desire to do something about it.
Then I’d laughed, brushing off his patient attention.I suppose it takes a special man to distract me from my meal.
Erik hadn’t seemed convinced.
Only as I’d left his private chambers, feeling oddly liquid-full, had Irealized he’d strategically fed me half the fruit off his own plate.
Frowning at the memory, I tore off my short silk gloves—now constant accessories around Erik—and mentally recapped everything to tell Garret.
I believed Nelle and Carmen had arranged a meeting via the Bolting Box. But with the box now lost, Tari had eagerly offered to monitor Carmen’s movements. Garret wouldn’t like that, but I was more concerned about the pink feather that had undoubtedly alerted Carmen to my presence in her suite.
She’d seemed distant these past few days, and it had produced an acidy guilt in my stomach. I wasn’t yet certain that Nelle had the compass—or that Carmen was involved with the copycats at all—but even in a best-case scenario, I’d potentially ruined our friendship.
Movement whispered between the hedges, and I peered ahead. The pergola lanterns were unlit for Grayday, and black organza draped the windows above, blocking the light from the palace. With the grounds steeped in soupy darkness, it was the ideal night for a meeting.
But no footsteps followed. No cold drift of Garret’s voice.
My specter thrummed, unsettled. Everyone should’ve been indoors for the Grayday tradition of solitary reflection. Even the staff ran on a bare-bones crew, the guards included; it was one of the reasons we’d chosen tonight, when Garret could enter via the hidden servants’ gate and sneak through to the gardens unobserved. I ventured forward, skirts snagging on the shrubs.
Acrunch, louder this time.
I halted, breaths quickening. I felt eyes on me, closing in like the heat of a flame.
Goose bumps erupted over my skin, and I scrambled into the palace.
My footsteps clapped across marble, candlelight trembling in my wake. I slowed at a wide hall that split off into different corridors. Then—to my left—black organza, rippling.
