She started to tell him no, that he didn’t have to, but she understood who Wes was. More, she knew what protection he could offer against magic. She gave him a sharp nod and turned to the hidden panel that led to the corridor.
In the darkness, Nim remembered the sensation of being followed the night before and paused, letting that part of her reach out and try to find the sense that had clued her in to magic in the past. She felt nothing but the fidgeting of Wesley behind her, breaking his vow to the person he respected most, his unease patent even in the dark. She frowned but pushed forward, turning down the corridor that led past her suite of rooms.
Wes tugged her cape. She glanced back, the taper throwing flickering shadows in odd angles through the narrow space and catching on Wes’s mop of red hair. “This way is shorter,” he whispered, gesturing toward a corridor that branched off the one she knew.
She handed Wes the light, allowing him to lead the way. They followed the path through more turns and down a spiral of stairs, and eventually came out into a room adjacent to the corridor that led to Calum’s cell. It explained how Warrick had so quickly found her the first night she’d come down.
“Ready?” Wesley whispered.
Not at all. She set her jaw and nodded.
In the corridor, the guards came to attention, though it was plain they’d heard something before the new royal constable and the seneschal’s messenger came into view. Nim and Wesley strode forward as if doing so was part of those duties and not some ill-advised lark they would likely pay for later. She could only hope it was later, anyway.
They stopped before the lot of guards, three visible and surely a few others in the shadowed corners nearby. The front guard eyed them both. Fates what they were, the nearest guard turned out to be the same one Nim had threatened with a magic sword.
Wesley winced then inclined his head toward the man. “Bramwell, pleasure to see you again.”
He grunted. It was not the pleasant, noncommittal sort.
“We need through.” Nim’s voice wasn’t as commanding as she might have wanted. She was going to have to practice wielding authority. “By order of the seneschal.”
She felt Wes flinch beside her, but he managed to hold back any other reaction.
Bramwell crossed his arms. “Is that so?”
The other guards exchanged a laughing glance, the look at odds with their stern mouths and solemn postures. Nim gave Bramwell a steady stare. “Are you asking me to repeat myself?”
His arms dropped, shoulders stiffening. “We receive our ‘orders from the seneschal’ directly from the seneschal. Anyone who was truly coming on his word would know that, my lady.”
“He’s in with the king on urgent business,” Wesley said. “Surely, you’ve heard.” It was not a lie, though Nim wondered whether misleading Warrick’s men would cost Wes or the guard in the end.
The guard’s gaze narrowed. “I expect the pair of you are going to find yourselves on the unpleasant end of an interrogation.” At Nim’s expression, he shook his head. “But the seneschal, as you say, has left a standing order to allow you through—should you ever request it—as long as he or his messenger are present at the time.”
Nim felt her gaze slide to Wes, who appeared equally sheepish. “Excellent,” she managed, though she felt especially small, given that Warrick had shown her trust while her own deceit was surely about to be reported on by his guard. “Do go on.”
He gave her a look but turned to unlatch the lock.
The guard did not follow to Calum’s cell, but the door did not close behind them. Wes held onto Nim’s cape more, she thought, for the protection against magic he could offer than that he was cowed by Calum’s presence. When they stopped before the cell bars, Nim was glad Wes had come, that Wes could see—like she had—that the danger was contained.
A chuckle echoed through the darkness, the torches unlit since Warrick was not there to fire them with his magic. She held the taper forward, casting light toward the alcove that made up Calum’s cell. “Back so soon?” he purred, his intimation making clear that he was not surprised, while his teasing tone suggested that she could not bear to be without him.
Nim thought his cell might have been better suited if it was the size of the one her father had been shoved into. “I’ve stabbed your brother.”
She had a moment’s satisfaction at the shock Calum let slip before he stepped forward. “Already? They do say marriage wilts the bloom off its rose, but I daresay that’s impressive, my lady, even for you.”
She took a small step toward the bars. “Not him. The other.”
Calum’s eyes glinted dangerously in the light, his intimation a spear of emotion Nim couldn’t sort. “Come to gloat, Miss Weston? A bit unsporting of you while I’m caged.”
“He captured me on the street.”
Calum did not seem to react to her words, but she couldn’t gauge whether the lack of concern was due to Rhen’s temperament not making such an act surprising or that Calum wasn’t at all worried about his brother breaking the rules.
Or maybe, she worried, Rhen wasn’t bound to the same rules at all. That was what she needed, to understand their rules, had she any chance to survive the game they played. She leaned forward, letting the light reveal both their faces. “He took me to my father’s cell. You are familiar with the one, I’m sure, as you shoved him in there while I was only a girl.”
The ease in Calum’s expression was clearly forced. Nim straightened. “I’m thinking of redecorating your cell, as a matter of fact. Feeling quite inspired after my experience.”
“Something with a low ceiling.” The voice from beside her was startling, so low and level that it did not sound like Wesley at first.
“Yes,” Nim agreed. “Dark and small.” Like Calum’s heart.
Calum chuckled, pressing a palm to his chest over an unreasonably tidy vest and shirt. “You wound me, dove. And here, I thought we’d come to an agreement.”
There was the thing she had wanted to forget. Nim could do nothing to Calum that would break their contract, despite the magical dagger strapped to her thigh. She would only ever have what he gave her and what she managed to steal. Calum would never freely aid her, and his intimations were too full of lies to be much use. She was wasting her time with him. She needed to find another way. Dove, he had called her, one more taunt while he was behind bars. She flicked a finger against the metal, letting the sound be the last word, but as she turned to go, with Wes giving Calum a final cold look, the intimation that came was only for her.
You think I’m the one in a cage, little bird, but it’s been you all along.
Chapter 12
Nim and Wes stole back through the corridors to the upper hallways and the study designated for Nim’s new post as constable. Two guards waited outside the doorway, and Nim nearly turned to head another way, but her gaze caught on a familiar figure seated beyond them. “Margery.”
Wes’s gaze shot up to find her, as if only realizing Nim had fallen back at her whispered word. His posture straightened, and they strode forward together to meet the guard.
Margery stood, an elegant hand smoothing the material of her skirt. She gave Nim’s wardrobe a once-over, entirely ignoring the two men in king’s colors who, if Nim had had to guess, she’d been giving a difficult time. “Lady Weston,” she said, her tone short and sharply refined.