King Stewart strode into the room, a heavy robe draped from one shoulder, his armor shining bare on the other. As the room dipped into their bows, Stewart took the throne, settling in with a heaviness that seemed to convey a bit of anger or some other emotion Nim could not decipher. Warrick bowed beside the men he’d been in conversation with then walked forward and onto the dais to stand beside Stewart, his gaze straight ahead but noticeably not focused on the crowd. Nim resisted the urge to glance behind her and search for whatever he might see.
Wes, another among Warrick’s men who the king was not particularly partial to but another Warrick meant to protect, was absent.
The king’s large hand twitched on the arm of the chair, his massive gold ring knocking against the wood. The room fell still and silent. He let them wait before he finally spoke.
“The great kingdom of Inara, bestowed upon our forefathers by the fates in time before record and treasured by its citizens in all the moons since, has withstood battles far beyond our ken. By their crowns and their blood, the kings before me have vowed to protect her and all she calls her own.”
A murmur of approval rose through the crowd, but Nim only felt the chill slide further down her back. Stewart’s deep voice echoed through the hall with a strange sort of finality that she could not quite pin down, as if some decision had been made, some choice resolved. His gaze roamed over the crowd. “Each in attendance here has also sworn a vow, given their oath to serve the kingdom and to uphold the laws laid in place ages before our time, laws that secure Inara’s very foundation.”
Nim’s throat went thick as the sensation of phantom fingers slid across her neck. She swatted a hand against her skin before she could stop herself, and Warrick’s gaze snapped to hers at the sound in the hushed hall.
Margery was glancing at her sidelong, but Nim did not allow herself to search the crowd. She found herself frozen by Stewart’s next words: “One day ago, a representative of our great kingdom was accosted by a group of men known to trade in magical favors.”
An intimation of shock came from Warrick, sharp and cold, but he averted his gaze as quickly as it had hit her. He could not let them see, could not give away that he’d searched her out in the crowd. Worse, Nim thought, that the king had not told Warrick what he had planned. Warrick was realizing what it meant, and he’d not removed Nim from the room and out of Stewart’s reach. Her stomach swam.
“The assailants have been taken into custody, and though the incident remains under investigation, the four in hand who have trespassed on our land and have so blatantly disregarded the gravest law of all”—Stewart’s green eyes cut to Nim in a reminder of the line he’d warned her not to cross—“will be hanged unto death before tomorrow’s moon.”
Nim’s knees went weak. Stewart was still talking, but she could not focus on his words. Margery’s hand slid into the crook of Nim’s arm, but there was nothing gentle in the gesture. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to fight the urge to throw her friend’s support off and run from the room. It was not the threat of being hanged like the men who had attacked her—it was that magic, dark and menacing, had slithered over her skin.
Someone was in the room… someone whose magic felt like Calum’s and Rhen’s.
Chapter 14
Nim forced herself to straighten, but before she could warn Margery they needed to go, Lady Lora fell to the floor. She hit with a solid smack, though her body was muffled by the material of her skirts. The landing had surely wounded her if the magic hadn’t killed her outright. And it was magic, without question—Nim could feel it. Her eyes shot to the dais, and she knew Warrick could feel it, too, as he was already moving, hand on his sword, shoving through a crowd of lords and ladies who stared in shock.
Warrick shouldn’t be coming. Warrick should stand by the king.
Margery had hold of Nim and tried to drag her from the commotion as Lady Constance and three others knelt over Lady Lora to discern the cause of her fall. As they rolled her over, a line of blood raced from her temple and onto the stone. Warrick reached them and stared at Nim, indecision flickering through his emotions. She should not have been his concern, even if she could sense it was all he was thinking of. “I’ll find Wesley,” she mouthed. Wesley could keep her safe from the magic.
Warrick’s jaw went tight, but he gave a small nod. He was shouting orders before he’d even looked away, demanding guards to formation to protect the king and ordering that the castle entrances be barred.
Margery shoved Nim through the crowd and into the corridor with guards at their backs. They were rushed from the hall toward Warrick’s rooms, but the sensation of magic lingered on Nim’s skin, a crawling, prickling thing. The magic could have dropped her, the same as Lady Lora. Someone was toying with Nim. She tried to focus and remember what Rhen said to her alone beneath Inara and what Calum had said in his cell.
She had broken her contract with Calum. But she had not broken her bonds to the Trust. The magic still called to her, wanting her to turn, to go back to the hall, to the dark magic and to Warrick. She would have been a fool to put herself within reach of the magic in the king’s presence. Nothing could be done to save her from the king if her secret was revealed with so many witnesses. Whether Warrick meant to protect her or not, Inara would not stand for her connection to the magic—regardless that it had been done to her and not by her choice at all. Magic was a danger. The king was a danger.
Both of them wanted her.
Something like a laugh echoed through her senses and Nim’s steps faltered. The intimation she’d felt suddenly clear. I’ll see you soon, it said. So very soon.
Margery’s hand on her arm snapped Nim’s attention back to the corridor. Nim glanced over her shoulder. “We need to get to Wesley.”
Five guards followed them in and scattered about Warrick’s sitting room among Nim, Margery, and Wes.
“What happened?” Wes asked.
Margery pursed her lips. “Though I do treasure the boy, why did we just run to Wesley?”
Nim gave the guards a glance. “Please wait outside.”
“We have orders, my lady. You are not to be left alone.”
She frowned. “I have Wesley.”
The look the guard returned seemed to beg her not to make him disparage the boy’s fighting skills right in front of him.
“Very well,” Nim said. “Send in Maris.”
He opened his mouth to reply then pressed it into a hard line as he gave a quick nod to the beast of a man beside him. “We’ll be in the corridor and not one step farther.”
Nim was grateful because she’d no idea how many of Warrick’s men were aware of his situation. Even less, she suspected, were aware of hers. All she could think of was how many times she’d exposed Warrick to their scrutiny since she’d met him, how many times he’d had to save her from the Trust. It was just what the Trust wanted, a threat to Warrick, something they could use against him. Nim kept playing into their hands.
When Maris rushed into the room and the guards had moved outside, Nim explained to Margery how Warrick had made a sacrifice to protect Wesley from magic.
“No one can use magic on him?”