Page 9 of Rook of Ruin
I nod, trying not to feel jealous. Wherever it is, I know she doesn’t want to go. She won’t be able to tell me any details. That’s how it is. Tess was more than likely told right before she had to meet with the Recruits, which is why her speech deviated from the normal. Usually, Tess would explain in detail the importance of those runes, and how, by a mere brush of the skin, an Untouchable can be bound to someone. Two souls tethered for eternity, she would always say, almost wistfully. If any Rook were to touch them, or they one of us, lives would be ruined. Career? Over. Life? Over. Love? Nope. Who would love someone who is bound to another? They must remain together in close proximity or wither and die without the other. Bound for eternity.
The Grey Sisters have no clear understanding as to why this happens. Crow scholars have theorized it could take a few days to weeks for them to die without the other, but it doesn’t matter, because it happens. I don’t even know why the Rites of Passage is still allowed with such a possibility. Rumors of men and women bound to others by accident have always circulated within the castle walls, but it is mainly the intentional bindings which create the most drama. When I was a child, I heard stories of an intentional binding to a titled person, but to whom, I do not know. Many Untouchable lords and ladies hide from society. Those who risk the public wear veils and clothing to cover their bodies to prevent an accidental touch.
Tess nudges me with her foot. “I’m leaving tonight, O. Promise me you’ll check in on Mum and Pops. Write to me; give me the court gossip when you can. You know I’m a fan of the drama.” She forces a smile. Tess loves to hear about court, anything to pass the slow days. I love to tell her innocent drama. Never anything compromising that the Spider would frown upon. However, if the information is public, I give Tess the full details of any dangerous liaisons.
I pull her into a shoulder hug. “Tess, I’ll be there for them. I’ll request to leave the castle. Our superiors will let me go with Paul . . . and you know I’ll keep you updated on any fun noble drama.” I flash her a wicked grin. “But only if you send me all kinds of goodies like you usually do. I expect something large, preferably alcohol, and I’ll save it for when you get back so you can tell me how you got it.” Tess smiles, large enough for the gap in her teeth to show. She’s great at procuring, borrowing things long-term that don’t necessarily belong to her.
“Miss you, O. Have a great adventure.” It’s something we say instead of goodbye. Goodbyes mean not seeing the other again. Goodbyes mean we have to say all the things we should but don’t. Her eyes tell me everything I need to know.
“Miss you, Tess. Have a great adventure too.” I know my hazel eyes are saying everything for me.
“Do you want to start the cadence?” Tess raises her nicely plucked eyebrows.
I smile in response.
“Recruits, formation! The only Rook to ever graduate a year early will be sending us off with a special cadence from our Recruit days.”
I wink at her. “The Ravens, the Rooks, the Crows! The Grey Sisters on their toes! When you’re dead, you’re gone, your memories made, but it never got you laid! He cried, shecried, they cried! The runes are painted then fade away. Your Untouchable gets fucked today! OOWAH!”
She sends me a tight smile and marches the Recruits in the opposite direction. I watch Tess go, proud to have her as a friend, proud to be her friend. I roll my shoulders and walk to the courtyard doors that lead into the Locker. Before entering, I say a silent prayer, hoping we survive.
Although there are no windows in the entire building, the Locker is extremely well lit by the vast amounts of sconces—and it’s shockingly clean. It doesn’t matter how many times I enter, I am always surprised it isn’t some dank dungeon.
My brown fighting leathers are unusually tight, and my lungs constricted on the stairs as I walked down. I fidget with a loose strand of my hair that managed to get away from the tight braid.Ten more steps, then to the right. Breathe. The moment I reach for the door, my heart stops. A tall, scruffy, brown-haired man, who looks like he had little to no sleep, throws open the door.
“Hey, Paul.” My voice thankfully comes out smooth instead of anxious and choppy.
My best friend and superior officer gives a half smile. “Hey, O. Glad I caught you.” I try not to wince.You sure did, Paul. Committing fucking treason while you speak. He rubs his tired eyes. “It’s a loaded night. You’ll need to report to block three.”
“Okay, Rook.” Acting as normal as possible, I give him a cheeky wink. Rooks don’t have titles other thanRook. Firstnames only when you know them personally, and definitely only in safe areas. Never in front of the prisoners. Last names if you don’t personally know the Rook, but mainly we just call everyone Rook. It prevents anyone from knowing our true rank. Can it get confusing? Yes. Stupidly so.
Paul came back from a rough mission three months ago. He was promoted and assigned to the Locker. He’s been tired ever since. “One more thing.” He sighs as I turn around. “A reconnaissance group came back with some new prisoners. Ossian is with them.”
Shit.“Okay, thanks Paul.” He notes my grim face and gives me an encouraging nod, ever the thoughtful peacekeeper between Ossian the Ass and myself. I give a curt wave and move through the door.
My jaw clenches. I thought I had more time to plan against the queen’s very own venomous Spider. I thought he would be gone for days. Tension radiates throughout my body, every fiber of my being screaming for me to hurry. Just the thought of him, the Rook who has garnered quite the reputation for committing and allowing terrible acts of violence, makes me want to scream bloody murder. So full of himself, so conceited. Ossian is a weaver of truths and secrets, and I wonder what he reported about Marrith last night. If he catches me—us—them . . .
Did he really do what Matron suggested?
I blow out a calming breath while walking quickly, and I remind myself that he probably won’t be in the Locker for long. Ossian is the queen’s favorite. He’s setting himself up for promotion and has made it a point to be knighted before he hits thirty. I snort.Good luck with that. He might be only two years older than me, but his aspirations have made him even more insufferable. He probably wants to be knighted just so everyone has to call himsir.
My face feels warm as I try to not think of his massive cock in my sex dream last night.
Sir. Other than the queen, societal titles mean nothing to Rooks. There are limitations and political maneuverings, but a title doesn’t get you out of the cells in the third and lowest level of the Locker. In Ossian’s case, he probably has aspirations to marry a duchess or become a member of Her Majesty’s inner circle. If that’s true, he might make my life even more miserable than he already does. I can already picture him standing before the queen’s council and telling them I’m just “a placeholder for the next Rook.”
Bastard.
I’ll get him back. I remember his deep scowl when I required him to fill out sixteen L-Forms in triplicate after he returned from a mission. I know how to do my job, and I will happily fuck him over with paperwork.
White veins pulse through light grey stone that makes up the hallway to the requisition room. The hallway seems to become narrower and my breathing more rapid. Focusing on nothing but the metal door, my fingers finally graze the cold handle, and I pull it. The room is filled to the brim with everything Rooks need. Extra fighting leathers, weapons, iron claws, chains, chairs, tables, and most importantly, our braces for those who work in the Locker.
I force a smile. The lovely Laura is sitting at the requisitions table, bored out of her mind. She is drop-dead gorgeous, curvy in all the right areas, and her tan skin is flawless. To top it off, she is just nice. Genuinely nice. Almost every Rook wants to get in her pants, but her mother arranged a marriage to some nobleman by the sea. Once she is married, she plans on leaving the Rook life behind. Every married Rook does for some strange reason; when—if—I marry, I will remain a Rook. I love talking to Laura most nights, especially about her upcoming wedding. I’m happyfor her, and I look forward to celebrating her nuptials. I’ll eat and drink my way through the guilt I’ll probably still have from tonight. If I survive.
“Hi, busy today. Did you hear the reconnaissance team is back? Hells of a day. Here for your brace?” She moves before I answer.
“Yep, here for my brace. How’s the wedding planning?”
Laura prattles on about different types of potatoes, anddid I know if the queen had a preference on turnips? No? Well, could I find out?I’m trying not to drum my fingers on the large oak desk as she retrieves my brace and slides the velvet blue box to me.
