Page 36 of Thief of Souls
“Mistmark, then,” I tell him, trying to ignore the shiver of desire in my blood as I turn the faucet on. “He and Soraya had a certain history together. He’d recognize her on sight and would move to strike her down if he saw her. Besides, if anyone is going to know where the horn is, it’s going to be him.”
Keir scowls into the distance. “How are you going to get to him?”
That is the problem.
“You’re not going to enter his rooms the way you did tonight.” There’s a hint of anger in Keir’s voice. “You nearly died.”
I blow a breath of frustration through my lips. “A slight exaggeration, my prince. And no, I’m not going anywhere near Mistmark’s rooms.”
Not until I know how he thwarted my sister’s assassination attempt all those years ago.
“No,” I repeat. “I need more information. I’m working blind here. Normally I know what I’m looking for. It’s simply a matter of finding it. Now… I need more information. Time to go play simpering lady of the Greenslieves.”
* * *
The men spendthe morning hunting the woods, including Keir. I plead a headache and leave the ladies to their own devices on the front lawns. From a stolen glimpse through the window, it looks like they’ve set up a field of archery. Several servants appear to have been roped into the game, and they’re wearing targets over their clothes. I don’t know what the ladies are shooting with—their arrows appear to have blunted ends, and every time they strike a servant, a colorful cloud of powder erupts, until the servants look like they’ve been dusted with powdered sugar.
It gives me time to ghost through the castle, avoiding both servants and nobles alike as I work out the layout of the palace.
I try the door to Mistmark’s room, but it’s locked. Usually not a problem, but a servant’s footsteps echo through the hallway, and I’m forced to retreat. I don’t want to enter after last night’s fiasco, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
Malechus’s rooms are guarded by heavily armored guards. Belladonna’s chambers sit at the opposite end of the hallway to his, and there’s a redcap squatting outside her door. Definitely not someone I want to meet on a dark night.
I retreat to the garden so nobody starts to wonder about my actions.
“Lady Merisel!” calls one of the archers with a malicious glee. “Come and try your hand at the targets.”
The targets look like they’re drunk. One serving girl with a fox tail falls into another’s arms, giggling and nuzzling at his neck. From the tails on his coat, he looks like the butler, but no butler alive would grab a housemaid’s bottom like that.
My eye locks on those colorful splats of powder staining their clothes. Now I know what it is. It’s rapture, a fae aphrodisiac that the nobles of certain courts sniff. It’s also a little dangerous, because it strips you of your control and makes you desire nothing more than hedonistic pursuits.
Tomorrow that serving girl is going to wake with a giant’s hammer of a headache and possibly the butler in her bed.
“I’m afraid I prefer my targets to be a little less love-drunk and a little more in control of their faculties,” I reply. I hate such mindless cruelty. The servants have little recompense here. They owe their lives to Malechus—and his guests’—favor.
They can’t refuse to play.
And the appearance of the drug strips them of any remaining choices in regards to their bodies.
“Oh, pish,” says the woman. I’m starting to put a name to her face. Rhea, perhaps? She belongs to the Court of Whispers, though I can’t remember whether she’s part of the ruling family there. “Where’s the fun in that? If she wanted to avoid her current situation, then she should have run faster.”
I should give a shrug and laugh before slipping amongst the women. I have a reason to be here. I want to find out exactly what the relationship between Belladonna and Anissa is. Because if Anissa is Malechus’s lover, then I doubt she’d be friends with Belladonna. To all appearances, Belladonna is displeased with her cousin’s efforts to push her into marriage.
But it’s that callous disregard for a servant’s choice that rubs me the wrong way.
I’ve disguised myself as a servant before.
I’ve had lords’ corner me in darkened rooms, their faces twisted with malice and dark desires before I showed them the error of their ways—and the pointy end of a knife.
I’ve had fae ladies play similar games with me, as if I’m a mere amusement and not a woman with my own hopes and dreams.
I’ve been able to avoid such vicious endeavors purely because my role in their worlds has been a ruse and I’ve been able to escape.
The serving girl with the fox tail has no choice. She has no escape from this.
I turn toward Rhea. She wants to play games? Okay. We’ll play. Right now, I have a position of power, even if these women would tear me down if they knew the truth.
“Your bow?” I ask Rhea, who was the same female I saw sliding her hand over Keir’s sleeve.
