Saris’s mouth and eyes went wide. “Are you suggesting he ran off with the body of a dead child?” She rose to her feet. “Brother, how dare you broach such topics in front of a lady. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Saris? Playing at delicate sensibilities?
Radre snarled, “You know exactly what I’m suggesting,sister!”
Wycke flew to his feet, placing himself between his siblings, bread knife clenched in his fist. His magic sizzled along the band on his wrist. “Radre, you’re upsetting Saris. Now go before I send a servant to the king. Does he even know you’re here? If he doesn’t, you’re breaking a score of treaties.”
Radre leaned around Wycke to growl at Saris. “What do you know, Saris?”
“Guards!” Wycke screeched. With a wave of his hand, he could banish his brother back to Myrgren if Saris allowed. The asshole might not arrive in one piece. Not Wycke’s problem.
Two armed guards stepped out onto the patio.
“I’m going,” Radre spat. “But you will answer me, Saris. Sooner or later.” He pointed a finger at her, snarled, and stomped past the guards.
“Make sure he leaves,” Wycke ordered the guards, dropping to his knees by his sister’s chair, where she’d collapsed. “Saris, are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s just…”
“It’s what?”
She caught Wycke by the collar, staring straight into his eyes. “Lyvianne is the guard I sent with Nyanda’s child. Somehow, Radre knows.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wycke eased open the door to his bed-chamber, holding his breath and peering at the bed—the empty, neatly made bed. What a relief. Trepidation eased its stranglehold. Yeah, a repeat with last night’s guests might be fun, but distractions right now?
Not a good time. Serious matters made encouraging his wicked reputation a bother.
No human bodies lurked under the sheets, but a black cat sat primly on Wycke’s pillow. “Where did you come from?”
Cats used to roam the halls of Myrgren Castle, keeping mice at bay. As a child, Wycke had once claimed a kitten for his own.
Until his father found out.
Here, ancient magic prevented mice and bugs from entering the palace.
“Oh, what a pretty kitty!” Wycke’s fingers itched to stroke the creature’s glossy fur. If he rubbed the cat’s head, he’d get purrs. He loved purrs. As long as no one saw him and damaged the reputation he wore like a cloak.
“Touch me and die,” the cat snapped.
Wycke nearly fell from his sudden stop. “What the ever-loving fuck?” Stress of this magnitude brought out human-realm epithets.
Rather than pure black, blue and brown highlights swirled within a dark coat. Dangerous-looking claws gleamed like polished gold. Onyx eyes regarded Wycke with disdain. “My name is Chynne,” the cat stated in haughty tones, holding itself regally on the bed, tail curled around its body. The tip twitched. “Former familiar to Lady Nyanda Gimitri.”
“Nyanda?” Oh shit! Help! Wycke yanked off his wristband. Sword. He needed a sword. A dagger appeared in his hand. “That evil witch?”
Chynne flicked a paw, sending the dagger crashing against the wall on the far side of the room. “Sorceress, actually, though I won’t argue if you mean your opinion of her character.”
“You’re her servant?” Wycke dove for the knife. Another flick of the cat’s claw pinned him to the ceiling. What the fuck? He opened his mouth to scream. No sound emerged.
“Keep up, Prince Wycke. I’ve not been free to use my full powers in ages. Give me a reason. I’m not a servant,” the cat sniffed, “I’m a familiar.”
“Familiar?” Wycke forced his head back to study the cat. Blood rushed to his face. He’d heard stories of familiars but had never seen one. Did Saris know about this? “My sister would have told me if our family’s sorceress owned a familiar.” How odd for a being claiming to be Nyanda’s familiar to appear now, as Wycke planned a quest to find the lady’s son.
And the same day, Radre appeared, demanding to know Sir Lyvianne’s whereabouts, and by extension, the child’s.
Coincidence?