: Chapter 37

So turn me in. We can hang beside each other, just like you wanted.

I’ve been hearing Jax’s voice in my thoughts all day.

All night, too. Nora is snoring across the hall, but I’ve been staring at the ceiling. I remember my conversation with Jax when I was begging him to re-create the seals.

If we’re committing treason, I said, we should know.

Now I’m the one holding messages, and I’m the one who doesn’t know. Alek showed me one innocent letter, but none of the others. The magistrate dragged Ellis out of here, but I’m still not sure what they caught him doing.

I’m so tired. My parents worked hard, and our lives weren’t necessarily easy, but … their relationship seemed like it was. Our family seemed like it was.

None of this is easy. None of this is fair.

In the midnight silence, the bakery doorbell chimes.

I sit straight up in bed. It wasn’t a full chime, as if the vibration started and was immediately stopped by a hand on the steel. Such a short burst of sound that I could almost pretend it was my imagination.

But it wasn’t.

I slip out of bed carefully, my bare feet padding across the floor. I can see Nora in her bed from here, an arm flopped over the side, her mouth open and her hair splayed across her pillow. Sound asleep.

I hold my breath, my ears straining.

Another sound, down in the bakery.

Goose bumps spring up on my arms, and I shiver. All my good knives are in the bakery, but Mother’s weapons are here, wrapped up and tucked beneath the bed. I tiptoe back to the bed and slide my hand around until I find a hilt. I expect a dagger, but I get a sword.

It pulls free with barely a whisper of sound. My heartbeat grows loud, but I stand straight, feeling the weight of it.

Too late, I sense movement behind me, and I try to whirl. An arm catches me around my neck, the hand slapping over my mouth. Another hand grabs my wrist, fingers clenching tight. I can tell from the size that it’s a man—and from the weight at my back, he’s armed a lot better than I am.

I squeal and struggle, trying to wrench free.

“Shh,” he whispers against my neck. The hood of a cloak brushes my cheek. “Don’t wake Nora.”

I freeze. Lord Alek.

His grip on my wrist gentles the slightest bit. “Can I let you go?”

I nod fiercely.

His arm slips loose, and I spin free of his hold, lifting the sword in front of me. All the heat from our kiss is missing now that he so clearly broke into my house. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even do me the grace of lifting his hands in surrender. “Do you know how to use that?”

“I know it’ll do a lot more damage than a pitchfork.”

He reaches out a hand to touch a finger to the blade, tipping it sideways half an inch. “Army issue. Your mother’s?”

I nod. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I won’t be interrogated at sword point, Callyn.”

There’s a dangerous tone to his voice tonight, and it sends a chill through my veins.

“Put it away,” he adds. “We’re not at odds.”

No. We weren’t. But I can’t ignore Jax’s warnings ringing through my thoughts. The way he said Alek was using me.

What will happen to your sister when you’re caught?

I’ve been frozen in place too long. Alek’s eyes are barely a gleaming shadow under the hood of his cloak.

“Or are we?” he says.

I lift the sword another inch. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

Then his sword spins free of its sheath, and he swings before I’m ready. I haven’t used a sword in years, not since my mother took me into the yard to spar with her. Alek knocks the sword out of my hand, and it goes clattering across the floor. I suck in a breath and look to the doorway, but it’s all the moment of distraction he needs. Suddenly Alek’s sword point is at the hollow of my throat. I can feel the kiss of the cold steel.

I lift my hands and take a step back. He pursues me until I hit the wall. My pulse is still thundering.

“A sword isn’t a weapon of warning,” he says. He steps closer, changing the angle of the blade so it remains at my neck. “If you aren’t willing to use it, you may as well put it down.”

I keep my breathing very shallow. The edge is right there. I flick my eyes at the doorway. No Nora. Good.

“And you’re willing to use it?” I whisper.

“Always.” He’s moved very close, until I can feel the warmth of his body. The blade is a narrow barrier between us.

“Is this going to be our standard greeting?” he says. “Should I always arrive armed?”

“Don’t you anyway?”

He smiles and his eyes gleam. “A day ago, you were going to drag me into the barn. What changed?”

“You broke into my house.”

“I didn’t want to wake you. But Lord Tycho was ordered to return to Emberfall, and instead he has come to Briarlock. He’s lost the king’s favor. I thought he might come here for answers.”

“So you’re making sure I don’t say the wrong thing.”

His eyes don’t leave mine, and that sword doesn’t leave my throat. “I’m making sure you’re not in harm’s way.”

My heart is pounding so hard that it might wake Nora. I don’t know who to trust or what to believe.

“Desperate people do desperate things,” he says.

“Are you talking about him or you?”

He startles, then smiles, but it’s a little vicious. “Likely all of us.” The cool steel of his blade touches my throat.

Then he leans in and brushes his lips against mine.

I plant my hands on his chest and draw up a knee to hit him right in the crotch.

He’s a good enough fighter that he drops back, avoiding my hit, but it gets that sword off my neck. I duck and spin away from him, swiping Mother’s sword off the floor in one movement.

This time his smile is real. “As I said.”

“Are you just using me?”

“Look at the state of your bakery. It seems we’re using each other.”

I flush. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“What is it you want, Callyn? An oath of devotion? A profession of love? A declaration of innocence? What would you trust, if not all my actions up to this point?”

“I’d settle for you putting away your sword.”

The weapon slides right back into its sheath. “Done. Now you.”

That felt too easy.

He takes a step toward me, and I raise my sword a few inches.

He lifts his hands, but he doesn’t stop. He touches a fingertip to the blade again, pushing it to the side lightly before stopping right in front of me.

“I think the problem is that you don’t want to admit what you want,” he says softly.

“That’s not true.” I swallow. “I want to be true to my parents. I want to protect Nora.” I take a breath. “I want to be a good friend to Jax.”

“None of that is about you.” He steps closer. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. I can watch your house just as easily from the outside as the inside.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His blue eyes are shadowed and cool. “When have I ever forced anything on you, Callyn?” He reaches out and strokes a thumb across my cheekbone. “The choice is always yours.”

When has the choice ever been mine? My choices have always been shaped by the decisions of others.

Until now, I suppose.

I shiver, then change the grip on the sword until the blade points down. I hold it out to him. “You don’t have to leave.” I pause. “I shouldn’t have pointed this at you.”

“On the contrary. I’m rather fond of your greetings.” He takes the sword and tosses it on the bed behind him. That hand that stroked my cheek buries itself in my hair, and I half expect him to pull me into a kiss.

He doesn’t. He pulls me close, his hands strong yet gentle, his free arm going around my back. He leans down to place a kiss under my ear. “What do you want?”

I don’t know. I want to stop feeling like I can’t trust anyone.

I hesitate, tense for a moment, worried he’ll turn it into more. Jax’s words about Alek using me are still loud in my thoughts.

But Alek simply adjusts his arms until he’s doing nothing more than holding me. I hear the breath ease out of his chest. My head relaxes against his shoulder.

What would you trust, if not all my actions up to this point?

He’s right. I’m the one who always greets him with a weapon, with a sharp word, with wary distrust.

He’s the one who shows up with silver, repairing the barn, bringing gifts for Nora, sending nobles to the bakery so we have enough money.

He’s the one who shows up to protect me, expressing his worry instead of making demands.

With a start, I realize he’s been protecting me since the first day I saw him, on the steps of the palace. On the day my father died.

Within the circle of his arms, my body has begun to relax against him, but he holds up my weight effortlessly. He’s stroking the hair down my back, and I don’t ever want it to stop. I take a deep breath for what feels like the first time in months. Years. Ever.

My face is pressed to his shoulder, and I inhale the warm scent of his skin. I can’t remember the last time anyone held me, but it’s very nice. My sleeping shift is thin, and I can feel every buckle, every weapon, every ridge in the leather strapped to his body. I’m keenly aware of his size, the strength in his arms. When his hand drifts to the small of my back for the dozenth time, it ignites a small flame in my abdomen, and I suck in a tiny breath.

He notices immediately. I’m not sure how I can tell, but there’s a sudden alertness to his body. A quickening of his pulse. This time, when he strokes a hand down my back, his hand slips lower, pulling a true gasp from my mouth.

He hesitates. Waiting. Assessing, his breath warm against my temple.

I tighten my grip on his neck, my palms suddenly damp. He takes that for an answer. Without warning, he dips a bit, his hand hiking the length of my shift, his hand sweeping the length of my calf, followed by a brief stroke over my knee, and then a slow agonizing trail up the line of my thigh.

His mouth hovers over mine now, his eyes glittering in the darkness, his fingers so light they’re barely touching me. “Yes?” he whispers.

I can’t think. I can’t wonder. I can’t breathe. I’m nodding vigorously, but he captures my mouth with his own, and suddenly, I’m drowning. Everything is too warm, too intense. A fire, waiting to burn. Then his fingers find me, and the only thing holding me upright is my grip on his shoulders. Somehow, at some point, he’s unlaced the front of my shift, because his mouth closes on my breast, and between that and his talented fingers, I cry out.

“Shh,” he says, laughing under his breath. “If you wake your sister, we’ll have no shortage of questions.”

“Right,” I gasp. “Right. Yes.” I still can’t think. I’m not even sure which way is up. His hand has slipped to the safer territory of my hip, and I’m pulling him closer, as if every inch of my skin is longing for him.

“Does your door lock?” he murmurs into my ear.

I nod without thinking. Suddenly, he’s gone, and I’m left shivering in the dark.

A scrape of wood precedes a click of metal, and then he’s back, tugging at the shift until I raise my arms.

But then I remember myself—almost too late.

I’m choking on my breath as I say, “Wait. Wait. Nora.”

His voice is rough and low in my ear. “The door is locked.”

“I know—I know—still—”

“As you say.” He tugs me, still dressed, toward the bed, where he sits on the edge, then pulls me to straddle his knees. My shift hikes up again, but now I’m more aware, more vulnerable. There’s a knife hilt under my left thigh, cold against my skin. The air finds every exposed bit of skin, and I flush, self-conscious. I want to tug at the fabric, to cover myself.

But Alek’s hands are soft on my face, and he’s kissing me, gentle and sure. He tastes like cinnamon and sugar and—

I jerk back. “You ate some of my apple tarts,” I whisper fiercely.

“Well, if you’re going to leave them on a platter, you certainly can’t blame an enterprising visitor.”

“An enterprising thief—”

The words die on my tongue as his mouth finds my breast again. I hiss a breath just as his fingers slip between my legs. His arm snakes behind my back, pulling me tight against him. My world centers down to this moment. His lips, his teeth, his fingers, the press of his body. The warmth, the intensity, the yielding in my body when my head falls against his neck, my forehead damp, my breathing quick and full of whimpers until I settle with a sigh.

I wait for him to pull away, to disentangle.

He doesn’t. He holds me as closely as he did when he touched my sword to the side.

He brushes a kiss against my hair. “I’m no thief, lovely.”

I kiss his throat, feeling his pulse, tasting his skin.

“No,” I whisper. “You’re surely not.”