Page 11 of Untempered
He absolutely knew who I was.
Was he trying to coerce me? My head buzzed as if it were full of bees, and I wanted to flee. “I’m sorry, my lord,” I said, and somehow the words sounded relatively normal, but perhaps I couldn’t hear even that properly. “The music is a little much for me.”
Mayhap I could get out of here.
He didn’t miss a beat. His smile had toned down, somewhat. “So I take it you like horses?” I hadn’t responded before he went on, casually, “I’ve a beautiful piebald at home who I’m hoping to put to Bravura, my stallion. Neither of them are friendly, but they’ve got legs on ’em.”
“That seems important,” I agreed.
His grin was swift and somewhat wonky as we halted near the edge of the gardens, on the precipice of that manicured, gently lit area where people wandered and spoke in hushed tones, and the noisy, chaotic movement inside.
“Is that not a phrase you use here?” he asked, waving over a circulating servant and helping himself to a drink. He didn’t pick one up for me, but looked across the top of his glass. “You look like you could use something.”
The horse lord’s words swam in my head. I glanced at the tray the servant held before him, eyes off to the side and expression as neutral as a statue. He was balancing it all perfectly.
How I wish I could do that.
Swallowing my misgivings, I reached out and took whatever was closest. “Thanking you.”
Kadan nodded and propped one shoulder against the elaborately carved pillar, kicking a foot against it. Luca was so far away now, and the server left us with a bow. Kadan sipped as if he had nothing more important to do.
The drink in my hand was apple cordial and tasted like blood.
I was acutely aware of every moment that passed in silence. The need to do or say something that would shatter the peace was almost overwhelming.
But they stretched out, two, then three. The song changed in the ballroom, and two older nobles I couldn’t focus on enough to identify wandered past. I was in a maelstrom of sensation and guilt and terror, and I could feel it chipping away at me, like it was ripping off my armor. And I could feel it, but I couldn’t feel anything at the same time.
“I think I’ve got us a path back,” Kadan mused but didn’t straighten. “If that’s your preference. If we dance, we’re less likely to need to talk to people on the way.”
My head pounded. I had to respond. My mouth moved, and I said, “I’d love to dance.” And I didn’t bobble the glass as I sat it down, or trip over my feet. I wasn’t properly connected to anything, but I had to be.
He talked about his piebald’s last foal, how she’d labored overnight, how the mare was looking promising, how he’d only brought one horse with him and worried about the others. At one point he said, “Don’t react, but your father’s spotted us,” and I felt like his hands had turned to coals against my skin. “Mine’s distracting him. I’ll get you back to Luca, then we’d best part ways for now.”
For now?
His eyes were on my face when I glanced over. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he offered casually. “Don’t you agree?”
He was trying to maneuver me. Well, he’d been successful so far. But I knew the enemy of my enemy was just another enemy.
CHAPTERTHREE
CHAY
“A person who cannot acknowledge fault will never be trustworthy.”
~ Raider’s Ban proverb
She was the daughter of the Butcher.
I waited, stretched out beside the hearth in a chair that was somehow less comfortable than my saddle. Kadan’s people—our friends—lingered, full of hushed talk we hadn’t aired when she’d been spotted at the banquet.
The daughter of the Butcher.
We were all sworn to secrecy. We’d held the facade through our shock. But they needed to talk it out, and it bubbled around me, excitement, horror, and glee.
Interesting, wasn’t it, that we were here to kill the Butcher, and we ran into his daughter?
Interesting, that she was riding with a Matri’sion, who stood for everything the Butcher hated?
