“So she gave him the bad ones. The nasty ones. The ones where he’d see innocents hurt, blood spilt. The ones that would give him nightmares. And when he came to her – his sister, not his boss – one night and told her what he’d been involved with, and how he wanted out, she showed him the money she’d been putting away. Said they could run the next week, she just had a few loose ends to tie up.
“I don’t know how my boss found out, but he did. Probably he looked into one of her stories and realized there weren’t any bones to it. But despite the fact she’d been a decent enough boss herself, he felt he’d been made a fool of. He wanted her to pay.
“I followed her. Found out where she really lived, what she did. Saw the way she handled her district, deflecting some of the nastier work. Saw she intended to bolt. When I knocked on her apartment door one night while the boy was out, she knew why I was there. Didn’t even seem surprised. She invited me in, made me tea. Told me everything. And as she was confessing I knew… knew she was confessing to the man she thought would be her death. I saw myself through her. Saw how, if she could be brave in the face of what I’d been raised to be, then so could I. I left, and told to my boss she hadn’t been in.
“I went back the next night. And the next. And…” He cleared his throat, his chest grew hot against her hand. “Soon I started leaving with the morning. By the end of the week I’d given her a path to take out of Rinton, a path that’d be damn hard to follow. One I wouldn’t join her on.
“And then I went home. I packed my things. As far as the Glasseaters were concerned, I vanished with that woman and her brother. I left hints of my path, knowing they’d want me more than her. Knowing they might just assume we’d traveled together. I knew they’d catch up with me eventually, but Aransa seemed safe enough until Thratia took over.”
“That’s why you left with Detan.”
He chuckled, and she felt the sound as a low vibration deep in his chest. “Among other reasons, but yes. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’d been foolish to think I wouldn’t be recognized. Tibal should have come with you instead.”
“I’d been foolish to think I wouldn’t be recognized. And Detan needs Tibal. Could you imagine him without Tibal around?”
“I can, and I’m not sure I like the thought.”
“Exactly.” She paused. “I’m glad you came with me.”
“Me, too,” he said, and held her a little tighter.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Their captors had the good manners to supply them all with a toasty, roaring fire. It was just too bad they were enjoying it in sodden coats with their wrists trussed up like they were ready to be roasted over the flames. Detan muttered and squirmed, drawing a sharp glare from the man he’d named Grumps, as their captors had declined to introduce themselves.
Grumps sat on an upturned log at one end of the fire. His companion who Detan thought of as Greybeard, sat opposite. The men who’d come at him with crossbows conferred somewhere in the strange forest.
He’d never seen such creepy trees before, with silver bark and leaves so dark green they appeared black. Someone had been tending to those trees, weeding around their roots and pruning the branches with care. Sacks of bark curls huddled near the roots of one tree, and strips of bark had been hung up to dry from a washing line strung between two branches. He eyed Greybeard, imagining him with a flower-embroidered gardening apron and a watering can of blood to feed his trees with.
Upon his return to Pelkaia’s crew, he’d been dismayed to discover that they had nothing to answer for the well-oiled crossbows pointed in their direction. He’d expected, at the very least, the entertainment of a scuffle, but instead they’d put their blades down and lifted their hands to the air much as he had. No doubt they suspected they couldn’t poke holes in the men before their assaulters got their shots off, but Detan had been disappointed by the rollover.
He was wet. He was tired. And he was incredibly sick of having to fight for every damned little thing.
But the watchers hadn’t rolled on them, as he feared they would. They kept their lips clamped as tightly as Pelkaia’s crew did, shrugging in faked ignorance when their captors pressed them for details on the Larkspur’s unique shape, and what kind of crew was left on board.
Pelkaia sat beside Detan, Coss directly across the fire from them, the sparking flames obscuring his face from view. She shifted, a touch more subtly than Detan had done, and he had to repress a sigh. She was clearly trying to communicate something to Coss, and doing it poorly. Which meant he had to cause a distraction, lest they all get beaten for her disturbance.
Trouble was, he had no idea how to go about causing a distraction that wouldn’t get him hit. He eyed their two minders, ignoring Pelkaia’s ineffective squirming, and decided to focus on Grumps. That one looked least likely to do his talking with his fists.
“Hey, Grumps,” he called above the crack of the flame. Both of the guards looked his way.
“Quiet,” Greybeard snapped.
Detan sighed and slumped, shifting his feet as if he had an itch he couldn’t shake. Grumps and Greybeard kept an eye on him, but held their admonishments for the time being.
Pelkaia angled her wrists around her back and tried to flash a hand gesture down low by her hip. No way in the pits Coss was going to see that, not with the flames blaring bright in his eyes. Pelkaia should realize that.
An out of place shadow flitted over Coss’s shoulder. Ah, so the signal wasn’t for Coss. Someone was out there, moving through the woods, and he had a real good feeling it wasn’t the crossbowmen.
“I’ve got to use the little boy’s tree,” Detan said.
“Hold it,” Grumps said.
“Not likely.”
“Just take him,” Greybeard said.
“You take him if you’re so keen.”
“Somebody take him,” Pelkaia said. “Or I’ll kill him if he wets himself sitting next to me.”
“You’re not killing anyone, missy.”
“Sure about that?”
Greybeard stood, baited by her implicit challenge, and Detan had to keep himself from snorting at how easily the old bastard had been manipulated. Greybeard stroked the forward curve of his crossbow, the weapon resting against his shoulder. His walk had a slight stutter to it, some old injury giving his knee a twinge every time he stepped, but he carried himself easily as he approached Pelkaia, his smirk growing with every hitching step.
“Think you’re tough, lady? All tied up like that?”
“I could take you drunk and stumbling, old man.”
He spat at her feet. “You’re not worth the time it’d take to strangle you.”
“And yet you hobbled all the way over here to tell me that.”
He lashed out, striking the side of her head with one flat palm. Her body jerked, shoulder slamming into Detan, and he stiffened his back to keep them both from toppling over. With a snorting laugh, she shook her head and grinned up at Greybeard. Detan winced. This level of escalation really wasn’t what he was after.
“That’s no way to treat a prisoner,” Detan said, forcing his voice to calm gravitas. Greybeard snorted.
“Have I offended the lord’s gentle sensibilities? Mercy me. Was it this?” He spat at Pelkaia’s feet again. “Or this?” he raised his hand to strike her once more.
“Easy,” Grumps said.
“Aw, come on, we’re allowed a little fun.” He grinned with all four teeth. “We’re simple servants of her highness, after all.”