Their rooms were a set of three on the third floor: an adjoining split for her and Prince Nales, and one for Doneil and Matteo to share. As soon as she ascended the stairs, the clatter and drone of drinks and conversation fell away. By the time she reached the third floor, a sense of quiet cushioned the air.

It was peaceful. Calm. Comfortable. The sounds of low conversation came from behind the doors she passed, none of it urgent. The sound of her own boots on the hardwood felt more immediate. The scent of cut flowers—gardenia, mostly, with lilac beside the privy—mingled with the scent of the inn’s stone and timber.

It was an old inn. A couple hundred years, maybe more. Smooth and well-kept, and modernized, but its age bled through in bits and pieces. The stone lips of the windowsills. The polished, ancient timber overhead. Squares of old ducting patched over on new walls.

She knocked once on Prince Nales’ door and, at his word, opened it.

The prince sat at a small desk by the window, loose paper—and, yes, that damned book, along with one of the dictionaries he’d been using. No wonder his pack had been so big!—laying in an organized sprawl across the plain wooden top. An oil lamp burned next to him, between him and the window, casting a bright, steady glow in the corner of the room. It highlighted the subtle waves in the plate glass and turned the deepening night outside into a stark black.

Nales looked up at her, the familiar wariness that tensed his body served with a question in his raised eyebrow. Then, his gaze dropped to the set of papers in her hand.

“No, I didn’t lose them,” she said by way of greeting, and closed the door behind her. Her attention scanned the room, assessing. The prince was slumming it in a small room tonight, barely four paces across. Like the rest of the inn, it had a homey feel to it. Spare, but comfortable.

She liked it.

When nothing proved very different from her inspection earlier, she flicked her attention back to him, already crossing the short distance between them.

She spotted his sword resting next to him, the top of its hilt leaning against the ancient stone of the windowsill and well within his reach, and relaxed further.

He wasn’t being a moron, then. Good.

Guessing her intent, he hastily cleared a space on his desk and they spread the map out. Nales’ eyes flicked over the new markings, the ink from the goblin’s stylus gleaming a subtle cobalt hue under the light.

His eyebrows rose. “The ogre did this?”

“Her boss. He wanted to see Matteo’s gun.”

His eyebrows lifted higher. “And did he?”

She snorted. “Of course. Easier to make friends with honey, and goblins value the sharing of information more than most.”

Standing by the side of the desk, she gave him an abridged version of all she had learned from Prya and Erralei, pausing to speculate on what, precisely, the new location meant.

“Was it in any of your books?” she asked.

“Yes. I think so.” He squinted at the paper. “The map didn’t record it, but there was mention of a possible weak spot in that area. It… isn’t an exact science.”

“No?”

“No. Although the recorded weak spots were tested with magic somehow, the others are only suspected based on local lore and superstition.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Local lore?”

“Strange happenings and ghost stories,” he clarified.

“Demons have ghost stories?” she asked, incredulous.

“Apparently. And they’ve studied them enough to extrapolate scientific possibilities.”

She supposed that made sense. Demons, in her very limited experience, were rather fond of Death Magic.

She shivered, the thought of the Death Veils touching her like a chill on the back of her neck. The way it had whispered in her mind as the demon Grobitzsnak prepared his undead magic to take her breath and turn her cold.

Nales had turned his attention back to the map, his brows furrowed in thought. Ink and graphite smudged his fingers, tracking into the grooves of his skin. She thought of the stylus Erralei had offered her. Could Nales get one somewhere?

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She abruptly quashed the thought.

Of course he could. He was a prince. He could get whatever he wanted.

Granted, being a prince came with its own complications.

“Say,” she said, watching him closely. “Did you know your brother wants you dead?”

His whole body bobbed in a snort. “He’s wanted me dead for a while. Why? Did you hear something?”

“The goblin told me. Why does he want you dead? You spook his horse once as kids?”

“Family politics. Thought it was common knowledge.” He glanced up. “You truly didn’t know?”

“I was trained for the Raidt court, not Lorka’s,” she reminded him.

“And you haven’t been abroad much. Yes. I see, now.”

She hid a wince. Outside the Raidt’s training, experience was something she sorely lacked. Another reason she’d brought Doneil along.

It smarted, though.

She pushed the feeling aside, her mind making some connections. “Lorka trades with goblins a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“In which case—they would know. In that case…” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why would he bring it up?”

Nales’s brows furrowed again, considering. “To test you, possibly?”

This time, she succeeded in diverting the wince. “Possibly, yes. But the other possibility is that your brother has become more active with his ambitions and he felt we needed the extra warning.” She paused, letting that point hit, then went on: “Is there a reason he would do so?”

As far as she knew, his brother was the crown prince. Why would he try to kill Nales, the second in line?

His face had blanked, expression pinching in concentration. His jaw muscles worked, as if she’d given them something to chew on.

Then, he went completely still.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

He hesitated, glance flicking back up to her. His jaws worked again, then grimaced.

“Family secret,” he said.

Ah.

“Did Bellfort know?”

“Yes.”

Then she, too, should probably know. Especially if it has bearing on the amount of danger he’s in.

As his guard, she needed to know what to watch for. Who to watch for.

By the look on his face, he was drawing the same conclusion.

He looked up at her sharply. “This can’t get back to the Raidt.”

“I’m not beholden to them,” she said mildly. “Not now.”

He hesitated again, glancing down, then back up, and he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

This time, when his eyes captured hers, they sparked with an inner fire they hadn’t had before. He held out his hand. “Swear it.”

She took it, clasping it firmly. His in-smudged fingers closed around the edge of her palm.

“I swear it,” she said, then dropped the hand. “Now, what is it?”

It was like watching a puppet relax, all its strings loosening. He sat back in the chair, his tension replaced with furrowed thought.

“Andalai,” he said—and she stiffened at the name of his family’s infamous blood-cursed sword. “I tested higher than him. Higher match, higher skill.”

‘Higher skill’ she understood; Nales was a better swordsman than his brother.

But the other one…

“‘Higher match’?” she asked.

“Andalai reacts to its wielders. Higher matches mean higher access of ability and a higher loyalty from the blade. If we were to fight, and I wanted to take it from him, I could.”

Catrin was momentarily speechless, thoughts racing through her mind. “I thought—I thought you didn’t use it anymore? That it was in a vault? Inert?”

Everything she’d heard about the sword reiterated that. The Cizeks hadn’t used it in two centuries. They couldn’t. It was dormant. Sleeping. Cut off from its magic ever since their ancestor sealed the demon world away.

Elrya, if that had changed—

Well, the Cizek’s could finish their world-conquering job. And maybe even branch out into a few others.

She really didn’t want to think of a world with a demon-powered conquering sword in it.

“It was, but we could make our blood sing with it.” He blew out a breath. “We were all tested. I came out strongest. Even stronger than the last generation. Of those alive, I’m the one who could wield it with greatest efficacy.”

“And he would kill you for that?” she asked. “Even though he’s heir-apparent?”

He gave a hollow laugh. “My brother? Oh, yes. He would kill me for far less than that.”

***

Searing cold woke her. She jerked, tasting blood and ice, and had half-lunged for the blades at the side of her bed before she realized what was happening.

Kodanh. He’d connected.

Slowly, she turned back over, breath catching in her throat, and wondered at it.

The ice lizard’s cave had opened in her mind as surely as a Kingsway. She could see it. Feel it. The deity’s power and magic wrapped around her bones and chilled her marrow, an extension of her own being, channeled through the mercari prickling on her shoulder.

A gate had opened. Somewhere.

Why?

She reached out, her woodcraft sinking into the inn’s bones like an old friend. The stones and timber remembered her, soaking up her awareness like pliant sponges.

Everywhere, everything was… peaceful. Calm.

Most, she thought, were asleep. And the night was quiet. A little below, she caught another brush of magic. A brief flicker, nothing more. One of the goblins, perhaps? Or Prya?

One of the three elves she’d seen earlier?

The dogwood out front noticed her and smiled.

She blew out, and let her woodcraft go, returning her awareness to her room.

Maybe she should give it a boost. What would it matter? She hadn’t made trees grow in years. It could be fun.

Much better than worrying about House Cizek’s cursed sword and its world-dominating abilities.

Gods alive. Why hadn’t anyone melted that thing down yet?

Maybe it couldn’t melt. It was demon-cursed, after all.

By the sound of it, the heir apparent was quite the asshole, too.

How could she protect Nales against that? Keep herself glued to his side? What should she even expect?

She lay there, feeling the burn of the runes and the touch of ice in her mind, and mulled it over.

About ten minutes later, Kodanh’s connection vanished as quickly as a guttered candle. Only the ache persisted, the burn from the ice lingering in her runes like a slowly dying ember.

Unreliable.

She needed to find a better way to work magic.

Perhaps it’s time to learn kimbic.