Nim inclined her head. “Lady Margery.”
Margery’s gaze flicked to Wes, who took her cue expertly and marched right past the guards who had apparently barred her from entering. Her chin rose as she strode past them and into the room ahead of Nim, then Wes shut the door behind the three of them.
When they reached her desk, Nim turned. “Margery—”
Her friend held up a hand. “No need for explanations. Half of Inara is afire with chatter about the Trust kidnapping an agent of the king.” Nim winced, but Margery only leaned forward, gesturing between Nim and Wes. “You two look like you’re up to some trouble. While I cannot say I’m not wounded that you didn’t request my assistance, and though I do find it quite agreeable that every time you’re attacked in broad daylight and miss one of our meetings the seneschal of our great Inara takes the time to send a personal message that you are safe and well, I’m done waiting. I am here to aid you, whether you’ve asked for it or not.”
Nimona opened her mouth to argue that getting tangled in Trust business was not something she intended to let her friend participate in, but Margery cut her short with a level glare. She was grateful in such moments that Margery did not have the ability to send intimations.
Margery’s gaze snapped to Wes to give him a similar warning glare, but the boy only grinned. She nodded as if the matter was sorted and settled into a chair beside the desk. “Now, what are we working on?”
Nim crumpled into her own chair with a sigh, and Wes said, “I’ll send some tea and check on…” His words fell off before he could add either “Warrick” or “the king,” and Nim hoped the boy wasn’t in too much trouble for letting her escape.
When he closed the door behind him, Margery trained her dark eyes on Nim. “Trouble in paradise?”
“The king wants me dead.”
Margery gave Nim an assessing look. “I can see that.”
She shook her head. “He warned me, plainly, that should I give him one excuse—” She made a slicing gesture at her neck.
Margery hummed. “Being publicly snatched from the street and dragged to the Trust is a fairly solid excuse, then.”
Nim nodded.
“So how do we fix it?”
Nim shrugged and gestured to the pile of documents on her desk. “I’m afraid my only recourse is to make it as difficult for him as possible. As for the rest, I’m hoping to learn what I can to figure out how the bindings work and what I can do to subvert magic’s hold on me.”
Leaning forward, Margery asked, “What hold? Warrick broke your contract, and we wrote a new one to bind Calum. What is left to hold you?”
“I-I don’t like to talk about it.”
Margery reached forward and patted her hand. “I understand. I wouldn’t dare be petty enough to remind you that your secret keeping is precisely why we had trouble the last time, but know that whatever it is, you have my support.”
Nim pursed her lips. “I don’t know exactly how or why, but magic calls to me, draws me to it.” She did not mention the head of the Trust, the dark queen whose magic had called to her, strongest of all, nor that the queen’s youngest son had not merely kidnapped Nim but had been inside her very rooms.
“And this is the bond you want to break?”
Thoughts of Warrick’s magic, warm and safe, swam through her. “I don’t… Well, I’m not sure that it’s the call of magic that is the trouble, only that I’m afraid of the connection it has made to someone specific.” Someone other than Warrick.
Margery’s expression fell for a brief moment before she shook herself and squeezed Nim’s hand. “Right. So we’ll suss that out.” She looked at the papers on Nim’s desk. “What’s all this, then? Where do we start?”
Hours passed in the candlelit study, the sky cloudy and dark through the windows outside. The remainder of the tea Wes had sent up had long since grown cold, and Nim was exhausted, having been both kidnapped and certain she’d be hanged in a single day. Her thoughts kept returning to Rhen, how he’d so easily slipped into her mind, and how he’d been near so many times when she’d sensed only the barest of magic.
“I can keep searching,” Margery said without looking up from her task. “You go ahead and snatch whatever sleep you can.”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Nim’s declaration was broken by a yawn that would not be contained, but when Margery glanced up, her expression was not the expected smirk. Suddenly alert, Nim straightened. “What is it?”
Margery slid the parchment across the desk and tapped a signature. “Avery Preston.” Nim glanced up from the paper, unfamiliar with the name. “Lord Preston was party to an agreement I wrote up for a king’s advisor. The terms were strangely specific, given that in the final revisions, it was asked that Preston’s name be stricken from every single page. And then the dolt who’d asked for him to be included in the first place had the gall to suggest I forget he’d ever said it. I do not forget,” Margery said. “Particularly when suggestions border the line of threats.” She leaned back, one of her dark brows shifting into a knowing spike. “I looked into it a bit afterward, as one does. He’s cousin to an old Darby line.”
The Darbys were a distant offshoot to the king. It was a reach, yes, but Stewart’s potential heirs would have been no one close. The king’s family had been taken by accident and illness when he was a young man.
Nim read through the document, and all of it seemed innocuous. It had likely only made it to her desk because it had been collected with other scraps and scrolls taken from someone the guard had been looking into. “I’m not sure,” Nim murmured, but something drew her fingers to slide over the name. A quiet gasp echoed through the room as she snatched them back.
“What was that?” Margery asked.
“The sting of magic.” Nim’s gaze roamed the document again. She drew a needed breath. “I’ll request an inquiry into him and, I don’t know, call him in for questioning?”
Margery’s mouth settled into a line as she considered. “Is that the best tactic? To face him head on? He’s not exactly of low standing. What if we instead call on those around him? Not close enough to draw his concern, only so that we are better positioned to discover his activities and associates.”
Nim felt her heart swell at her friend’s liberal use of “we.” She would rather that Margery was safely tucked away in her family’s manor. Even with what the Trust had done to Margery’s father aside, she was crossing a dangerous line just by offering aid. Nim opened her mouth to thank her again, but the lock on the study door clicked, and both women turned to regard the opening door.
Maris stepped in, giving a practiced curtsy before meeting Nim’s gaze. “My lady, I’ve been sent to fetch you back to your rooms. Will you be taking dinner with your guest?”
“Yes,” Margery said. “I’ll be staying all evening.”
Maris’s attention never faltered, her dark eyes steady on Nim. Nim nodded and stood, and Maris dipped again before turning toward the door. As Margery stood to follow, she shot Nim a look conveying that she was highly impressed. “What?” Nim mouthed.