“You have a new wardrobe and a vanity table.” Her voice was hoarse and felt disused. It came to her that she hadn’t spoken to Rhen aside from that single word, the name he’d forced from her lips before she’d sealed them shut. For some reason, the idea of depriving him his game felt nearly as pleasant as having stabbed him. It was certainly less messy.
Warrick seemed caught off guard by her announcement, drawing his face from where it had pressed into her hair to follow her gaze. Across the room, opposite his chest of drawers, was a tall wardrobe beside a small table and mirror. “Yes.”
It was all he said, but she sensed a flash of intimation, that he had brought it there for her. It was their room, and in it, her things. “I’ve mucked up your plans again,” she said.
He settled his head onto the pillow once more and made the noncommittal sound she liked so much.
“What now?”
His fingers toyed idly with the material of her shift. “We carry on as planned. I’ll make new arrangements with the magistrate, and we’ll have it done.” An undercurrent of wrath flowed beneath his words, promising that Rhen would never touch her again.
“We need to complete the ceremony so that he cannot reach me?”
Warrick did not answer, but she felt from him that the entire ordeal was more complicated than that.
She turned to face him, her bare toes brushing against his booted shin. “But you can’t tell me things.” Things like the fact that Calum and Rhen were his brothers. Things about magic.
He reached to brush a thumb over her cheek, to offer her comfort and promises she could sense before he’d even spoken them, but the neck of his shirt shifted. At Nim’s horrified expression, Warrick froze.
Her gaze found his, no sign of the matter or that he’d kept it from her in his eyes. But she could feel the truth hiding beneath his intimations. She sat up, pressing him to his back as she leaned over him, over the new wounds that marked his chest and shoulder. There was nothing but resignation in his response, not a single regret for what he’d done. She pulled the material of his shirt aside to see it all, her stomach dropping at the truth of what he’d done.
“The dagger?” she whispered, her fingers tracing lightly over the fresh scars that feathered into the old. They would hurt him for as long as he lived, a reminder of what he’d done, what the magic had cost him.
Warrick did not answer. But she could see the accusation was right. He had tied himself to her, woven his magic into the blade, and when she’d struck true it not only tore a sacrifice from Warrick but had not released Nim until she’d slammed into him outside the Trust. Returned to him. He had paid for what she had done to Rhen with his own flesh.
“Is this what happens,” she said, her eyes meeting his in the small space between them, “when magic is given freely?” Some sort of debt, she meant, a sacrifice that was paid and an act put into motion that would not be satisfied until it reached its end—until she had come back to him, until the magic in the dagger had let go its hold.
Warrick’s hand rose to cover hers over his chest. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, strong and steady. He was not afraid. He could not be sorry for what he’d done. He would not let Rhen touch her again.
“No matter what it costs you?” Her words were harsher than she’d intended, too loud in the sparsely decorated room.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the vow she expected, his heated reply, was cut short. He frowned. “One moment, Wesley.” Nim had not even heard the boy, but Warrick was moving off the bed and crossing the room in haste to grab a gown from the new wardrobe. Her wardrobe. He laid the fine dark silk on the bed and gave her a long look before turning to walk from the room.
Nim was not certain what the look promised, but she did know that she had to get dressed. Someone was coming. Warrick had been summoned. She stared at the dress for a moment then crossed to the wardrobe to open its doors. New dresses waited inside, nothing familiar to those in her own room.
The king had certainly heard about their confrontation. The king would know Nim had been dragged to the Trust and that his seneschal had nearly followed her inside, at risk to the kingdom.
The king had promised to end her.
Face twisting, Nim shoved the dresses aside and jerked from its hook the wardrobe of her new post as constable.
Chapter 11
Nim burst from Warrick’s room dressed in pants and a slim jacket, the light cape attached at her shoulders trailing behind her. She did not find Warrick or the king waiting, only Wesley, posted at the door to the sitting room, wearing an uneasy expression. Nim blinked at him, and he gave her a cringing, apologetic sort of smile. She crossed the room to stand in front of him then crossed her arms.
“Warrick says I’m to bar you from leaving this room.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to do it, Nim. He’s been summoned by the king.”
Nim dropped her arms. “Wes, I appreciate your loyalty, but I’m afraid I’m not about to go along with it. No part of me is willing to stand here and wait to be gathered by the king’s guards.” Wesley’s forehead wrinkled. Nim glanced over her shoulder then moved to Warrick’s desk. The dagger still lay there, covered in Rhen’s blood. She dipped it into the basin then shook the water free and wiped the blade on her cloak. When she strapped it to the sheath at her thigh, Wes moved forward.
“Nim, this is a very bad idea.”
She glanced up at him. “Do you know what the king intends to do?” His expression made it clear that he had no idea. “End me,” she said. “The moment he discovers I’m tied to the Trust, this is over. All of it. And nothing Warrick can do will save me.” In fact, she suspected that would suit the Trust just fine. A rift would form between the king and his heir, and Calum and his lot would be that much closer to their prize.
“You can’t believe—”
“He told me,” Nim snapped. “In just as plain terms.” She straightened, grabbed a taper, then crossed to the tinderbox. When she turned again, Wes was there.
“I can’t let you leave. He’s only trying to keep you safe.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry to make you break your word. Truly, I am. But Wes, what will Warrick do should you not do as he’s asked?”
“He’ll be disappointed.”
“And?”
His reply was soft. “And I don’t like to disappoint him.”
“Neither do I,” Nim said. “But I’d rather not be hanged by the king.”
Wesley’s lips pursed. “Where are you going?”
“To find out about magic.”
His gaze narrowed.
“The dungeon.”
“Nim.” He strung the word out, and his shoulders sagged in a way that made him appear younger.
“It’s the only way out of this, Wes. You know who I am. You know what they’ve done to me. If I don’t find a way around it, I’m doomed to repeat the same situations as happened today.” Worse, even. She firmed her resolve. “I’ll not let them use me to take down the kingdom.”
He let out a long-suffering huff. “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”