“You know,” Nyxabella said, “a message to me from Julius could have prevented this,” and she gestured down the length of Daivad, making his belly flip.
As embarrassed as it made him, he knew it would amuse her, so he said, “I tried. That kid stole the stone before I got the chance.”
“Pait?” she asked, and walked herself on her knees down toward his thigh to deal with the bullet still within it, making him stiffen.
“I can do that,” he said quickly.
But she waved him off without looking up. “Pait stole the stone? That’s why you were chasing her?”
Hyper aware of her fingers as she tore the bullet hole in his pants wider to access his leg, Daivad heard himself saying, “Did you think I was doing it for the sport?”
“Isn’t that why you chased me around Urden?”
His pulse skipped, his body remembering the thrill of that night, her curls streaming behind her, and her wild, excitement-sharp scent washing over him, the sound of her hysterical laughter as he reached for her only to let her slip through his fingers.
“I—” he stammered, searching her face, her scent, her body language—was she flirting with him? “That was different.”
“Different?”
But he couldn’t detect any particular undertone in her voice, no hint of mischief. Was she fucking with him? Her expression was concentrated as she swirled a hand inches above the bullet wound, and he felt Metalwork magic sear his skin, burn through the muscle, and then a shooting pain down his leg that had him gritting his teeth as the bullet was drawn carefully, but quickly into Nyxabella’s waiting palm. She rolled it into her fingers, then offered it up to him. He watched her face even as he held out his hand, nearly twice the size of hers, and let her drop the souvenir into it—her eyes were earnest as ever. Was it possible she really didn’t know what she was doing to him?
Maxea huffed, judging him.
“You saw the kid?” Daivad asked.
“Jac cracked her cell, and we sent her to wait somewhere safe, and swore to help her out of Luvatha’s walls, to somewhere permanently safe. Safe for the marked, anyway, if not for monst—” Nyxabella sucked those pink lips in between her teeth, like she might be able to suck the words back in and keep them clamped there.
But Daivad’s focus was elsewhere, and horror was settling in his gut. “The marked?”
Nyxabella moved around to his other side to begin her work there, and let out a heavy sigh as she knelt again. “Yeah.”
“That piece of shit marked a kid?” The growl grated on his cracked ribs, but he didn’t bother to try to temper it.
“If it causes any comfort,” Nyxabella said, “he couldn’t count out ten minutes after doing so—because one of your stray pieces of broken earth crushed him and that shiny armor of his into a puddle of red and gold.”
“Some,” he admitted, that perverse, familiar satisfaction he knew so well curling inside him, “but not enough.” His fists clenched, claws begging to slide back out. “What place in all Lushale can you name Safe for a marked child?”
“Well…” Those big green eyes flicked to his face for a moment. “You do have this habit of collecting them…”
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. His camp. She was trusting him to keep the kid safe. Granted, there weren’t many alternatives, but still. She was trusting him.
At his silence, she looked up. He said, “She and I didn’t part on the best of terms. I’m having a hard time holding on to the idea you convinced her to follow me home.”
“Then strengthen your grip. It’s my name on our tongues, here, Daivad,” she said, a hint of grandiosity in her tone as she gesticulated. “Nyxabella, the Convincer of Princes—one not to kill her, and one to help her kill the other. Do you really doubt she could convince a marked orphan child to accept her help, even coming from the strangest of sources?”
He felt a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. “I guess not.”
“See? I convinced you.”
The pull became more insistent. “How do you plan to get her beyond the gate?”
She waved a hand. “With Z, it will be easy.”
All hint of a smirk fell from Daivad’s face. Right. Vigore. Sharper than he’d intended, Daivad said, “You can’t trust Vigore.”
Nyxabella looked up from her work, surprised. “Z’s excited for any excuse to break a law, providing it’s one they can get away with. You know that.”
“I know they care about exactly one thing, and that’s themself. Z doesn’t keep friends, they keep tools they’re not done using yet.” Adrenaline prickled Daivad’s neck, ran the length of his arms. “How many tales from the last few weeks have you told them, Nyxabella?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” She threw another dismissive wave. “None. I wouldn’t put them in that position.”
“And what about when you return to their side wearing my scent?”
“I know to wash up first—and even if I didn’t, Z wouldn’t ask. They didn’t ask when I showed up covered in—” She caught herself, and the animation faded from her movements, her tone, though she tried to keep it light. “I know the lines around Z well, and I can name which ones are safe to step over and which ones aren’t. And Z would never have let that prick mark Pait in the first place if they’d been there.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Doubt gnawed at Daivad. The Z Vigore that Daivad knew didn’t care about homeless children, they cared about Entertainment, keeping themself amused any way they could think of. Finding out which face each noble liked best and crafting it perfectly, weaponizing whispers and knowledge and pleasure, pulling strings and making nobles dance. Was Z making Nyxabella dance too?
But—she was the woman who had survived five years at Richard’s side, and even earned herself the freedom to come and find him. Not even Z could pull strings so well. If she really could read magic, read people so well, she would have to see straight through to Z’s true face. She knew what she was doing—didn’t she?
Trying to put as much meaning, as much seriousness into the words as he could, Daivad said, “Be careful, Nyxabella.”
She smiled at him, then smoothed one final bandage just above his left hip, and worry warred with something hungry in his gut. Mother Dark, he needed to get himself together.
She said, “I will,” and began to gather what was left of her supplies.
“Alright,” he said begrudgingly, unhappy both that she would be going back to Z soon and that there was no more reason for her to keep putting her obscenely soft hands on him. “Then just send the foul-mouthed beast when you have a plan, and we’ll take her in—”
Nyxabella laughed, full, and Daivad felt like he’d just taken a massive puff from Tobei’s riseberry pipe. He had made her laugh. Again.
Still giggling, she asked, “Did Julius give you much trouble?”
Daivad blinked at her, awed. And then his mind was scrambling, trying to come up with a response that would earn him another laugh.
He felt Maxea’s gaze on him, naming him pathetic. And he didn’t care.
“None. I only wrecked half my house trying to rid it of a little obscenity-slinging nightbeast that seemed determined to puke inside my kitchen.”
She threw her head back and laughed into the too-quickly lightening sky, and Daivad was soaring. Her pale, smooth throat and the tender skin just beneath her perfectly curving jaw. The muscles stretching from ear to freckled collarbone, and the blush that spread down her sternum. How much further, he wondered, did the blush extend beneath the collar of her dress and all the soft, full flesh that—
Nyxabella began to straighten and Daivad forced his eyes to her face, still lit up with a smile, the pouches of her lower lids pronounced. She said, “That’s my good boy.”
“He certainly names himself so.”
It earned him another round of laughter. He would fight a hundred Kures, he’d fight the whole of Monster Island and the Serpent itself if it meant he got to spend a night making her laugh. What else could he think of? The nose-picking thing, she’d love that, or maybe he should just tell her the whole story.
But before he got the chance, she asked, “How did Pait manage to pick the pocket of the Traitor Prince, anyway?”
“She hugged me.”
Her pale eyebrow shot up. “She hugged you?”
“Three assholes were harassing her, demanding payment for something.”
“And you couldn’t help yourself.”
He protested, “Ben would’ve done the same even if the first move hadn’t been mine.”
“As he should.”
“She thanked me, hugged me, wiped fake tears from dry cheeks, and I didn’t miss my coin purse for blocks.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she teased, “I imagine you’ve counted out so many years since someone hugged you that you forgot how one feels.”
“Not true,” he growled, watching the smile lines at the corners of her eyes closely. Almost there. “Tobei tries to hug me whenever he’s drunk—so, daily.”
“And he succeeds?”
“Maybe once a month he’ll catch me off-guard.”
There—just a giggle this time, but he would take it.
“I’ll keep a close eye on her hands when we’re back at Z’s house, then,” she said.
“And beware any hugs.”
Nyxabella froze, her heart skittering. Both Daivad and Maxea tensed, listening for the sounds of opening gates or approaching guards, thinking she had sensed something. But Nyxabella just looked down at herself, placed a hand on her belly like she was searching for something that wasn’t there. Her head snapped around, eyes darting all over the place, her heart pounding hard enough to rattle her ribcage.
Daivad sat up, ignoring the way the world tilted and his body screamed at him. “What?”
The sharp scent of panic pumped off her.
“My bag,” she whispered. “No, no, no. My bag. It’s gone. Why—?”
“Nyxabella,” Daivad said gently, leaning toward Nyxabella—but she was scrambling to her feet, and Maxea followed suit, jade eyes darting around.
“Why would she take my bag if she’s going to Z’s house?” she muttered to herself, frantic. “She wouldn’t rob a woman she’d see again. Is she—Did she lie?”
“Belle?” Jac called, striding toward them, and Daivad dismissed Maxea’s snarl before it could fully form on her muzzle. Jac’s concerned gaze switched to a violent one as she glanced from Nyxabella to Daivad, who was making his own slow, unsteady way to his feet. “What happened?”
“My bag.” Nyxabella was shaking. “I think Pait took my bag. I know I’d never set it down, not with that fight raging. I—How did I not realize!? How did I not miss his magic!?”
“Ay, ay,” Jac soothed as she jogged up. She placed a hand on Nyxabella’s shoulder. “The bag was empty of anything that can’t be replace—”
Daivad saw the understanding click into place on Jac’s face. She said, “Shit. Shit.”
“What?” Daivad asked, already putting his tattered cloak back on, sending what was left of his exhausted magic through his limbs.
“Kitten.” Nyxabella’s voice was high, panicked. She wound her fingers into her hair, dug her nails into her scalp. “When she looks inside, she’ll—”
“Ay.” Daivad guided one of her hands gently away from her head. “Enough of that.”
Obediently, she released her scalp, but the terrified expression hung on her face.
He asked, “You had a kitten in your bag?”
“A monster,” Jac corrected.
Oh.
“She’s not going to Z’s house,” Nyxabella said to herself. “I couldn’t convince her. How did I not know? Why didn’t I watch her magic closer? We have to find her before she realizes and—”
“Belle,” Jac said, heavy. She squeezed Nyxabella’s shoulder. Daivad recognized the look on her face, the familiar struggle to find the right words.
And before Jac ever got the chance to choose the words she wanted, a sound drew Daivad’s attention. The rattling of enormous chains and the creaking of gears and wood. The gate was making its morning ascent. The guards were coming.