She was being shown where they had left her father and would be forced to witness what had become of him—if he remained there at all. She felt nothing from the darkness, no sense of the man he’d ever been. But she wouldn’t have, as he had not been a man of magic. Her father had been only flesh and blood. He had been taken from her, stolen, and even the memory of him was a dangerous, deadly thing. Coldness swept through her, and had she to answer at that moment, Nim would have known precisely what she was made of. Not the innocence of a child but the cold, hard makings of a weapon.
She rose in one fluid motion, flesh and blood and vengeance come to life. The magic in the dagger or the steel in her resolve had broken whatever hold Calum’s brother had over her, and the blade slammed into his gut, fast and deep, surely too easily for any strike that would cause real damage. But her aim had struck true, and Rhen’s blood flowed over her hand. Her eyes met his, her resolve falling away at the sight of him, so young, so shocked, grievously wounded by her hand.
And then a cold fear swam through her as his shock melted, his mouth opening with his broken laugh. Nim had done something bad. She had to get away. Her hand seemed frozen on the dagger, her grip coated in blood, her fingers unwilling to release the weapon. Rhen leaned nearer and, through his cat’s smile, whispered her name as if satisfied, sated, triumphant.
Nim jerked the dagger free and ran.
Chapter 10
Nim burst from the gateway and into Inara, disoriented by darkness. It had been barely afternoon when she was dragged beneath the city. Fates knew what awaited her or if she’d been knocked out longer than she’d thought, but nothing could slow her steps. Rhen was behind her, giving chase. She was his prey, and her pulse thrummed like a rabbit’s.
His blood felt sticky on her hands, damning her. Rhen was an heir to the Trust. Rhen was Calum’s brother.
Rhen is coming.
Nim would have been a fool to glance over her shoulder, but the fear that drove her was all she could obey. She turned, catching sight of a form moving through the catacombs she’d left behind, past the guards who had let her run, who had known she was his to track, and slammed into a solid body. She shrieked, jerking the dagger back to strike, and her wrist was caught in the iron grip of a large, male hand.
Warmth spread through her, a roiling, steady rage, and the dagger became something other than the magical bond it had been. The grip she’d been unable to release finally loosened, the weapon clattered to the stone, and Nim’s body was wracked with a violent tremor. Warrick. Warrick had come. He held her against him, which was fortunate because she wasn’t certain her legs were attached any longer, let alone in working order.
Nim took in the men at Warrick’s back. Castle guard. Wesley. The king’s men filling the street. She had never seen a king’s man inside the Trust, and surely, given Warrick’s deal, they were not allowed while under his command. She might have wondered how long the men had stood at the entrance to the Trust, how long had she been gone, but the heavy air and shifting shadows drew her notice. It had not turned to evening. The sky had gone dark as if a storm approached. Nim glanced at Warrick then followed his gaze to the arch that led to the undercity. Beneath the iron bars of the gateway, raised to evening revelers, Calum’s brother shifted to stand in the torchlight.
Rhen, her mind seemed to whisper on repeat. Not just Calum’s brother but Warrick’s as well. Another danger. Another secret. He stood smiling, his jacket open to reveal a shirt soaked with blood drawn by Nim’s hand. The stain spread like ink from his middle, seeping down the material on one side of his dark pants. “Brother,” Rhen said.
Warrick flinched and though Nim could feel it beneath her touch, she could not take her eyes off Rhen to discover the reaction of the king’s guard. Brother, he had said. It was a treacherous threat, one that had the potential to break the foundations of the kingdom. A cold emotion had settled deep within Warrick, but all Nim could focus on was the heat of his magic. He wanted retribution, wanted to burn. This brother was worse than Calum. This brother had done something wrong.
He has no care for our rules. Rhen’s intimation seemed to mock, as if he were speaking as Warrick. But Warrick said nothing, only looked on.
Rhen slid a hand to his hip and wagged his eyebrows, impish and gamesome, as if he’d not just been stabbed. He leaned forward, his intimation plain: Come get me.
Warrick shifted, and Nim thought for a heartbeat that he would, but he had made a bargain that had not been broken, one that kept Inara safe in trade and said that Warrick could not walk into the Trust. He leaned over, picked up the bloodied dagger, and shoved it into his belt. His gaze met Nim’s for only a moment, then he tugged her to him and turned to walk away from the Trust.
Warrick did not speak on their return to the castle but only held her against him atop a large black horse as the sky roiled before its storm then carried her inside as if her legs would not take her. She could not say for certain that they would have, though the trembling had stopped, but his grip on her seemed to be more of a dare that anyone try to touch her. He took her to his rooms, leaving a crestfallen and weary Wesley in the sitting room, where he gave Nim a miserable look steeped in apology before sliding into a chair. Warrick continued to his study, stood Nim before the desk, and handed her a drink. He produced a basin and as Nim washed the blood from her hands, she had to look away from the water, tinted and sloshing and wanting anything left in her to rise again.
She closed her eyes, and Warrick ran a damp cloth over her face then unfastened her ruined dress. It dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of it, along with her ruined slippers. Warrick tossed his jacket over a chair before laying the dagger on the desk beside her. Nim stared down at it. She had stabbed both of Warrick’s brothers now, drawn blood from the heirs to the Trust.
Without a word, Warrick slid his hands beneath Nim’s back and knees and lifted her to carry into his room. Their room, he seemed to think, but Warrick was wrong. She’d fouled up their plans. They hadn’t met for their ceremony, hadn’t followed through with his intentions. Rhen had called him “brother” in front of the castle guard.
So much was wrong, but when Warrick settled Nim onto the bed and lay beside her to wrap his arm over her and draw her near, all she could do was sigh in relief. Fates save her, but she could not believe she’d made it out alive. No part of her had thought she would escape the depths of the undercity, even as she’d stabbed the man who held her there. She had broken their law by harming Rhen. The accountants had broken Inara law on his order by stealing her. “Hush,” Warrick whispered, though Nim had not spoken a word. He ran a finger gently over her temple then smoothed the hair back from her face. Hush, he thought in a calming tone. Hush, as if to quiet both their fears.
Nim breathed in his scent and let the warmth of his body seep through her shift as the warmth of his magic settled into her bones. She belonged there with him. It wasn’t only Warrick’s presence that called to her in a way that felt safe, felt like home. It was his magic. But as she lay there, she could not even recall the part of her that had always feared Calum’s power, that had recoiled from the feel of it and the mere idea of it touching her in any form. She drew in another long breath then opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. She’d been trying to escape the magic that wanted her. She had run from it since she was a girl. And now, nothing felt righter than leaping into its arms.