Page 95 of Untempered
“If you’re trying to convince me you’re a lost pup,” she said, and I was torn from my thoughts, “you’ve failed.” She glanced over her shoulder, but I was already on the move, my feet like slabs of meat at the end of wooden stilts as I tried to navigate back down the stairs. There was something, though, some flicker on her face as I left.Guilt.
I got to the common room and braced myself against the fire, which may as well have been my post for the hours I’d spent there. This time, I didn’t need its warmth.
Don’t go there. She’s the Duke’s daughter.You killedchildrenfor her.
That could be true,andshe could have an amazing ass. The quality of her curves would never cancel out her personality.
Anyway, it was probably a breach of my oath to fuck her, because there’s no way word wouldn’t get out, and it wouldn’t do harm.
Her hands hadn’t been impatient when she’d caught me up in her limbs in the orchard. They weren’t impatient on her horse’s reins, or when they lingered over the corner of whatever she was studying. Why were they so impatient in her own hair?
As she appeared, pinning her cloak at her throat, I resisted the urge to offer to assist her with it.
“We’ll go to the kitchens first and take Ylva a hot meal, then see if the Captain has returned.” The Captain was either dead somewhere, finding the bottom of his tankard, or sleeping off attempts to accomplish those things. She opened the door and held it for me to pass. “If I can’t find him, I’m going to start talking to anyone who’s there to figure out who’s drawing up the roster. I need to make sure Thomas is given rest time. We’ll probably be headed there tomorrow, but I don’t know right now.” The thought of visiting the field hospital wasn’t the worst. I closed up the tower and walked beside her. “I’ve got three primary issues right now. Military, medical, and economic. I’m putting them in that order of priority because that’s the order they’ll kill us.”
That was a lot of information. She must’ve beenfeeling bad. “Where does Ylva fit?”
“Pleasure,” she said, without a hint of shame or any further explanation.
I didn’t see it, myself. Ylva was too sharp, too sly, too unbending. And I suspected she wouldn’t bat a lash while she cut our throats.
“She’s using you,” I pointed out.
“I imagine we’re using each other,” Audrey agreed. “Isn’t that how people work?”
The thought was disturbing. “Not good ones.”
She tossed me a pitying glance. “If everyone is happy with the trade, then you’re still using each other.”
“Is that what you’re learning from the history of the East Arcanloc Trade Company?”
“You can laugh, but a lot of strategies used in trade seem like they’re useful in life.” She shrugged her cloak a bit higher, then picked absently at a nail. “Similar tactics are used in relationships as they are in large organizations. But no, I didn’t learn that so recently. Do you want to know about the EACo, as it’s become known?”
She looked at me as if she genuinely thought I might say yes.
“No.”
I expected a flicker of disappointment or disapproval. Instead, I saw nothing but acceptance, as if it wasn’t just the anticipated answer but thecorrectone.
She swept into the kitchens ahead of me, and I was left staring after her, feeling like we were both failing a trial.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
AUDREY
“As the moon vanished, Hruudwulf looked across the fallen stones and bloody ground. It wasn’t until he saw the tears on Gaelena’s cheeks that he realized his belly was now full.” ~ Southern lore
Iwatched the young woman’s hands working the dough before her, hypnotized by the graceful movements. “…in the riot last night,” she was saying, cheeks bright, words breathless. “Richard says his cousin’s neighbor’s family hasn’t been able to get aught to eat for almost a week. Everything’s gone.”
The three guards in the corner stood as they saw us, scraping their chairs back. Dice disappeared into pouches. I stopped beside the cook, ignoring the bows they sent my way, and deliberately turned my back on them.
My heart drummed as I looked up and met her eyes. I didn’t know where to put my hands. I hated that I had to worry about that while trying to figure out what the crinkles between her brows meant and that pinched twist to her mouth. Annoyed? Worried? “Why are they here?” I asked her quietly.
“My lady!” she bobbed a curtsey but didn’t stop stirring. “Why, I’ve just sent you up a good bit of soup.”
She didn’t want to talk. That was the only answer. “I’m here for the prisoner,” I said, playing along. “Could I have another bowl, mayhap?”
There was quiet around us. The cook smiled. “Of course you may.” The guards watched her measure it out. “Would she like some bread, do you think?”
