Page 62 of Thorn Season
I shot in the opposite direction, then paused inside a dark alcove to catch my breath.
After three long, quivering minutes, I peeked out.
The halls were empty. The organza hung limp across the windows.
My panic drained, and I began to feel rather stupid. This was the palace, for pity’s sake. The worst thing lurking in these halls was Rupert with a full glass of wine and a long story to tell.
I straightened my skirts, chiding myself, and continued to my chambers at a more reasonable pace. I would have to send Garret a report tomorrow, because I certainly couldn’t return to those gardens. Though I’d likely been driven to nervous tatters by nothing more than loud lovemaking nobles, we didn’t need those nobles overhearing our conversation.
I sagged into my chambers, leaning back against the door. I blinked, adjusting to the dimness, then crossed into the bedchamber.
A wave of nausea hit me.
Thorned roses overflowed from a vase on the vanity, filling the room with their fresh scent. Erik must have sent them up after our dinner. I brought my wrist to my nose, but the night air had blown off my perfume.
My head began to throb. I’d rather sleep in the lounge than handle the roses tonight.
I was plodding out when shadows stirred beside the dresser, and I snapped my head around. A silver-tipped boot peeked from the darkness. The boot of a palace guard.
I frowned, voice sharpening. “You shouldn’t be here—”
My words hitched as that boot stepped forward to reveal strong, leather-clad legs and a heavy torso. Black hair fell around the man’s snarling face.
“Stop your search,” he said.
I gulped, pulse pounding in my throat. “How did you get in here?” But I already knew. This man must have stolen those boots—a whole uniform, probably—to walk these halls unnoticed.
Because he was certainly not a guard.
“Stop your search.” His hands rested on twin knives, one sheathed at each hip. “We won’t warn you again.”
“We?” I echoed. “Who are you?”
He smiled viciously, shifting between his feet. Metal glinted below my eyeline, and I felt the floor tip as I looked slowly down. Toward the steel canister sheathed at his thigh.
With bright, blazing horror, I realized I hadn’t been followed through those halls. I’d beensteeredthrough them.
So I would end up back here.
“You killed Marge,” I whispered, my specter trembling. “Didn’t you?”
He unsheathed a knife, its handle glaring bone-white. He pointed the blade at me. “You’ll stop your search, or you will join her. Do you understand?”
I could hardly hear him over the roaring in my head, over my own harsh breathing. The blood-spatter on Marge’s floor, her abandoned mug, hertooth—
The man started toward me.“Do you understand?”
I whipped around, ready to bolt, when his rough hand fisted in my hair.
I cried out, eyes watering. I staggered back against him.
“I asked you,” he growled with another sharp tug on my hair, “a question.”
My specter nettled at the pain, but I leashed it tight. That canister would produce enough dullroot to choke my specter. If he hadn’t deployed it, he didn’t know I was a Wielder.
I couldn’t let him find out.
In a rush of panic, I scrambled behind me to where his second knife was still sheathed. I drew the weapon and thrust back—blindly.
