Page 20 of Thief of Souls
Something dangerous lurks in his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” I push past him, desperate for some space. “Isn’t that how one escapes a dream?”
“Not mine.” Keir’s voice is a shiver over my skin as he prowls after me. “Once you’re in my dreams, Zemira, you can’t escape me. So I would like to know how you achieved it.”
I drowned.
I still the shiver fighting to break free. I’m not going back there to that time and place, not even in my own memories. I’m alive, in the here and now, basking in the warmth playing over my skin. If life has taught me anything, it’s to never look back. “Perhaps your power isn’t as absolute as you would like to think it is.”
His eyes narrow, and I’m fairly certain I haven’t convinced him. Those dangerous eyes rove over me. “I like the vest.” His gaze turns hot. “I like the breeches too. Much better than the silk and lace you once pretended to thrive in. This suits you.”
“It’s easier to move in than the pretty gowns I once wore.” I shoot him a challenging look. “Did you bring what I need?”
Keir gestures me toward the carriage, his eyes glinting with challenge. “As my lady commands.”
Don’t call me that.But it’s the plan, after all. And it’s my plan.
Two servants haul a trunk down from the carriage even as I studiously ignore him.
A simple flip of the latch, and there it is.
The perfect weapon.
I wince as I pick up the corset on top of the pile of gowns. “I’d almost forgotten how uncomfortable all of this is.”
“If you want to be invited in,” Keir murmurs, “then you have to look the part, my lady Merisel.”
I hate that name so much.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“Her name.” Keir leans his back against the carriage, turning just his head to look at me.
I shake out the dress on the top of the pile. The silk feels surreal beneath my callused fingers. Little chips of diamond glitter from where they’re sewn into the skirts. “It’s just a name. Just an alias. I’ve spent my entire life slipping them on and off like old clothes.” I can’t help arching a brow. “This is cut to my size perfectly. Is it real?”
“No. It’s crafted entirely from my dreams,” he purrs. “Careful, or I might simply make it all vanish, right in the middle of the wedding.”
I nearly drop the gown. “What?”
“You wanted a distraction, did you not?” He actually rolls his eyes as my jaw drops open. “It’s real, Zemira. It’s all been made just for you.”
“You have an entire trunk of clothes cut to my size?” Not even a brownie with the best homespun magic can simply magic up an entire wardrobe of clothes like this.
“I like to be prepared,” he says. “I have a year and a day of your service, and if I need you to do something for me, then I don’t want to have to wait until you have a wardrobe.” His gold eyes lock on me mockingly. “You have an entire suite of rooms awaiting you at my palace. You have a wardrobe of gorgeous gowns. You have books. You have a set of goblin-forged knives, spelled to cut through any ward and keyed to your hand only. Everything you might need and desire.”
“Goblin-forged knives?”
The goblin court was named Forbidden during the same wars that branded my people with that title. The goblin king vanished his court from fae eyes and swore that his court would not deal with the fae while the sun was still in the sky. A goblin-forged blade is worth a small earldom. They’re rare. Impossibly rare. And to get his hands on an entire set of them….
Forme.
I can’t breathe. A horrible, giddy feeling sweeps through me. Soraya has one goblin-forged blade she stole from the collection of a centuries-old fae who captured pretty mortal girls and chained them to his dais. She killed him with his own knife, set the girls free, and then burned his palace.
It’s her most treasured item.
“When you say ‘set,’” I manage to sound almost calm, “precisely how many knives are you talking about?”
