But there was another scent there, one that she recognized.
Wayland Smith had said he would be there to see them off at dawn, but his scent lingered. He had already arrived. Kitsune sniffed again, nostrils flaring, to be certain she was not mistaken. No, he was here. Had passed by only moments before.
Breakfast was served in a small room at the front of the inn, almost diagonally opposite the tavern where they had met the previous evening. The tavern would be closed now, the stink of stale ale remaining no matter how many times the tables had been scrubbed. It would be dark, and empty.
Or it ought to have been. But this morning, the tavern was not entirely unoccupied.
This early in the morning, she saw only the innkeeper as she walked noiselessly toward the tavern. Soon the few other guests at the inn would begin to rise to make their way down for breakfast, at least if the aroma of food was any indication. It occurred to her that the innkeeper and his wife might be feeding themselves now so that they could attend to their handful of guests when they rose. That was sensible.
But even as such thoughts crossed her mind, she was following Wayland Smith’s scent and listening to the low drone of voices coming from the tavern. Kitsune narrowed her eyes and raised her hood, resisting the urge to transform. She did not need to be in the form of a fox to have a fox’s hearing. Even before she reached the open arched entrance to the tavern, she could make out the voices well enough, and knew to whom they belonged.
Wayland Smith and Frost.
At first this set her at ease. She had been growing more and more distrustful, and was suspicious of Smith to begin with. He had been there at Amelia’s the night they were betrayed, after all. But if he was with Frost, that was to be expected. They would be discussing the Borderkind, what message Smith ought to be conveying, and which of their kin Frost and his coterie might be likely to encounter on their way to Yucatazca.
But that was not the subject of their conversation.
“You’re taking a great risk with the Bascombes,” Smith said.
Kitsune froze, then slipped into the shadows just outside the entrance to the room. Frost and Smith both had keen senses, but nothing like a fox. They would not notice her as long as she did nothing foolish.
“It cannot be helped,” Frost replied. “Whoever is behind the Hunters-whether it be Ty’Lis or some unknown enemy-they must be destroyed. I do not wish Oliver and his sister ill, but the needs of the Borderkind take precedence.”
Wayland Smith laughed softly, bitterly. “When it comes to the Bascombes, how can you know what the Borderkind need?”
“I do not claim to. I only know that attacking our enemies directly will at least mean the deadliest creatures in the Two Kingdoms are too busy to chase them.”
Kitsune frowned. All of this was gibberish to her. It did not seem that they meant Oliver harm, but there were secrets here, most certainly.
“You hope,” Smith replied. “Why not just trumpet his presence, then? The Lost Ones would rush to his aid if they understood who he was. He and his sister.”
“Oh, yes, excellent plan,” Frost said. “At the moment, only a very few know who the Bascombes are, and what their presence could mean. If everyone knew, there would be far more who would try to kill them than protect them. Oliver is in enough danger as an Intruder, but he has a small chance of gaining a reprieve if he is clever. Why have every legend in the Two Kingdoms after his blood?
“No, there’s nothing more that can be done. I must see to my kin first. His fate is in his own hands. And Kitsune’s. Much as we could use her, I’m glad she is going with him. He stands a chance, with her.”
From within the tavern came the sound of a match being lit, and then the smell of Smith’s pipe, the tobacco rich and earthy. He spoke between puffs.
“You’ve really made a mess of this, haven’t you, Frost?” he said grimly.
There was a moment of pause. From within the tavern came the tinkling sound of ice crystals as Frost moved.
“You’d do well to watch your tone with me, sir.”
“Of course,” Wayland Smith replied.
The fear in his voice made Kitsune shiver.
“It was bad enough when I began to hear of Hunters preying upon Borderkind, murdering our cousins. I knew right away something had to be done, that some dark power saw us as a threat and wanted to eradicate us. But when I heard whispers that they had been sent after the Bascombes, I knew I had to protect them. Had I time, I would have brought others. It would have been so much simpler. But the Falconer surprised me. He was faster than I expected. I was wounded.”
Smith puffed on his pipe, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough from smoke. “You had no choice.”
“None. I was too weak to spirit them away. Oliver helped me get to a place where I could cross through the Veil. The only way to save him was to take him through with me.”
“Putting a death warrant on his head for trespassing?”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Frost said, his tone as crisp and cold as his skin. “Just as I had no choice but to leave Collette behind. I couldn’t take them both-”
“But you only needed one to survive. So you sacrificed the sister.”
“No,” Frost snapped. “I was…fairly sure that the Falconer would pursue us. He could have found the sister at any time in the mundane world. But with Oliver in our world, that was trickier. It was a risk, I admit. But even now, they haven’t killed Collette.”
“They’re keeping her as bait,” Smith said darkly.
“But she’s alive.”
Kitsune shuddered. Once again she had misjudged who she could and could not trust. How many secrets was Frost keeping from her? From Oliver? There was more to this, and she would have answers, but this concerned Oliver more than it did her and he ought to be with her when she confronted Frost.
In swift silence she raced into the foyer. As she went up the stairs she caught new scents. Chorti and Cheval Bayard were about to arrive, ready to ally themselves with Frost. That was fine with Kitsune. It was time that secrets were exposed and true loyalties revealed.
No matter the consequences.
CHAPTER 5
With the dawn light peering over the upper ridge of the plateau where they had camped the night before, Julianna sat with her legs pulled up beneath her and stared at the breathtaking beauty of sunrise. Halliwell lay on the ground fifteen feet away, arms akimbo, snoring lightly. From the ache in her own bones, she knew that he would be a wreck when he woke. Every hour of sleep he had managed to steal on the hard-packed earth of the plateau would be another knotted muscle, but she could not bring herself to wake him.
She was not sure what to make of Halliwell now.
When he had first been saddled with bringing her along in pursuit of Oliver, the man had been distant and arrogant. No more so than many men she had known, of course, but it had been tiresome. As they had traveled from the States to the U.K., things had warmed between them. Julianna had decided that she liked him. Curmudgeon that he was, Halliwell was an intelligent man and good at his job. She had also begun to believe that her newfound respect for him was reciprocated. And perhaps it had been.
But here, the rules had changed.
Halliwell wanted answers to the mysteries that his investigation had presented, but they needed to find Oliver for a different reason entirely now. If they had any hope of getting out of here, of waking from the nightmare of this impossible place, it lay in Oliver’s hands.
Whatever had happened to Oliver-and the surreality of their surroundings made it appear that there was no simple explanation for that-it was clear now to Julianna than he probably had not abandoned her without reason. If he had an explanation, she wanted to hear it.
She had loved him for so long that he was a part of her, under her skin and in her every breath. When she had thought that he had abandoned her at the altar, she had been crushed. But what she could never have explained to anyone was that what had shattered her heart was not the idea that he had decided not to marry her; it had been the thought that he did not trust her love for him enough to come and talk to her about it.