The last time I had a stranger in my bed, I spent the entire godsdamned night thinking aboutherinstead. I probably should have been ashamed of that, if not a bit embarrassed—but I had gotten away with it, and therefore I was not. Still, I wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that I had taken some random, brown-haired woman to bed, just to treat her as a stand-in for the one I actually wanted to be balls deep inside.
Thank the gods that I had at least managed enough tact and self-control not to moan Arken’s name out loud while I fucked the other woman, fast and hard and aggressive—the same way that I regularly fucked my own fist thinking about the samedamn thing. Arken in my bed. Arken on her knees. Arkenscreamingmy name.
Platonic. So very platonic.
As lovely as such images were in my mind, I was grateful when a tap at my window distracted me from my inappropriate, borderline pathetic obsession.
I could barely make out the figure of the mail sprite from across the room. From this far away, it just looked like a small, swirling vortex of air, but the sprite took shape as I approached the window. It was a stoat, standing up on its hind legs, presenting me with a small scroll sealed in emerald green wax.
A message from Tessa Kallys, the Viscountess of Amaranthe. Nowthatwas unexpected.
I had reached out to Tess a few weeks prior, after the disturbance with the Mirkovics at the Western Gates had drawn my suspicions. Regrettably, I had no sources of significance in Freyston, and so I had settled for the next best thing: Someone with intimate visibility from the neighboring lands. I knew from experience that there was no love lost between the Kallys family and the Mirkovics, so I had entrusted Tessa to keep an eye on that group from Freyston.
As I unraveled the scroll, it appeared that the seeds I planted had potentially started to bear fruit.
“Town hall meeting” at the Dogwood Inn, S.E. Freyston. All expected to attend. 11 PM.
— TK
I glanced at the clock. It was just about ten. I could make it to southeast Freyston in less than half an hour, but I didn’t want to go alone, so I summoned my sprite and scratched out two quick directives—a copy for each of my lieutenants.
Meet me at the stables. HQ. Immediately.
“I swear to the Source, you better have a good reason for this,” Hans groused as he strolled up to the stables.
I was preparing Muniin’s saddles, but paid his qualms no mind. I would be more concerned if Hans Deering arrived for a last minute mission without complaint, honestly.
“Why’s that, Deering?” Jeremiah inquired, rounding the corner from the other side of the stables. “Got something better to do?”
“Someone,” Hans muttered.
“My apologies, boys,” I replied, adjusting Muniin’s reins. “We’ve got a lead.”
“Lose the uniform jacket,” I directed, glancing over at Jeremiah. “I’ve got a few casual coats in my office, but be quick. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Efficient as ever, Jer was gone and back again within three minutes. As we mounted up and made our way towards the Western Gates, heading for Freyston, I briefed them on the situation.
“There was something off about that party of protesters a few weeks back,” I began.
“The group who followed Mirkovic’s caravan?” Jeremiah asked.
“The very same, yes. Like you mentioned, it was unusual for a group of Pyrhhan citizens to bethatdisgruntled with their leadership. I mean, sure—Gidgeon and Levi can be pricks. Bristol and Gwen are mostly fine, if not a bit up their own asses. But when it comes to policy? Lord de Laurent keeps them in check.”
“We found no evidence of foul play or ulterior motives when we investigated, though,” Hans pointed out. “It was mostlyfarmhands. A few artisans, traders. And they’ve apparently been on their best behavior ever since. Has something changed?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. According to one of my sources, all twelve of those Pyrhhans are expected to be in attendance for some sort of town hall meeting that’s taking place at the Dogwood Inn at the top of the hour.”
“What sort of town hall meeting takes place at eleven o’clock at night?” Jeremiah scoffed.
“Nothing sanctioned by the House of Embers, that’s for damn sure,” I replied.
The abrupt screech of a barn owl startled Muniin, interrupting her canter. I rubbed at her neck with soothing circles against her coarse coat, and we carried on.
“So what’s our strategy?” Hans asked.
“We’ll tie up the horses on the cusp of the woods,” I instructed. “Dogwood is less than a kilometer out from the trail, and we’ll draw less suspicion on foot. We’ll disperse ourselves throughout the room. Jer—I want you monitoring exits. Take note of whoever might be coming and going, and look out for any Pyrhhan guards.”
“Yes, sir.”