Tempest could remember her mother’s voice in scraps of stolen moments between dreams and wakefulness, but it was getting harder and harder for her to remember her mother’s face. Did Tempest look like her mum? She slapped her cheeks to bring some heat back into them. But there was no one to answer her.
She wished there was.
Her head pulsed again, a sharp ache moving through her skull. She’d spent enough time outside. It was really time to retire to bed. She could not feel her ears, nor her fingertips. Her teeth were chattering so badly, she worried she might bite straight through her tongue. When had she gotten so cold?
On silent feet, Tempest slunk over the sea of roofs. She dropped to the street and veered to the left to take a shortcut to the barracks when a group of off-duty guards caught her eye. She resisted the urge to cover herself and held her head high as she attracted their attention. She felt naked out of her uniform. They moved in her direction before she could slink off down the street. Tempest scowled, then relaxed slightly when she realized Levka was among the group. Tempest was still not entirely sure if he was genuine or was merely using an opportunity to get closer to her now that she was on the war council. Regardless, she was relieved to see him. She would face no trouble or harassment from the guards with Levka in their presence.
“Where has our lovely Lady Hound been, then?” one of the guards asked. “The slums are not for the likes of you.”
Her shoulders tensed at the name the king used for her. A palace guard, then.
“I could ask you the same question,” Tempest replied, keeping her tone just as good-natured and jovial as the guard himself. “What are you all doing? It’s so late, and we’re in the slums, no less! Don’t tell me you were visiting a brothel?” Her gaze slid to her friend. “Though surely not you, Levka.” She made sure to emphasize his name and gave the Hound-in-training a pointed look.
Instead of blushing or turning away—which Tempest would have expected if he really, truly liked her—Levka looked indifferent instead.
Very telling.
“And what about you?” a guard whom Tempest did recognize fired back, grinning sleazily. “You’re out just as late and in the same unscrupulous part of the city as we are. Don’t tell me you have a lover here?”
There wasn’t any way she was going to answer that. Either way, they’d all assume the worst.
“Oh, looks like the girlie is ashamed,” a third guard said. “Don’t tell me. Are you an animal-screwer? Is your lover a shifter? Most of the bastards in this area are. Why else would you be in the slums alone?”
Tempest flinched at the insinuation, not because of what it said about her, but because she now knew a fair share of shifters who were good people. She thought of Briggs, of Aspen, the fawn shifter, and his mother Rina, who had baked bread for Tempest. Most of them were good, honest people who did not deserve the ire they faced from Dotae every single day. The prejudices against the shapeshifter people were baseless and wrong.
“Bet she would like the hands of a bear or a wolf or a lion on her,” the third guard taunted. “I mean,” he slurred, clearly a little drunk, as they all obviously were, “she took on that beast in the ring easily enough. No man can handle her.”
Her lip curled at the suggestion in his tone. “Well not anyone, to be sure. Only the strongest and brightest. Clearly, that doesn’t include any of the likes of you.” Not her best retort, but she couldn’t stand there, silent. She arched her brow at the quiet Levka who said nothing, choosing to look at his feet instead. Coward.
Tempest was on her own.
“Considering your fondness for rabbit shifters,” Tempest began, directing her answer at the palace guard, “and the unspeakable things you ask them to do to you, I’d say you’re far more familiar with shifters in bed than I am.” Thank you, Juniper, for always gossiping with me about the goings-on in the palace. Her smile grew as the man’s face darkened. “You really should be more discreet about these things.”
The guard did not like her response at all. “What do you think, Levka?” he asked, forcing the Hound-in-training to look up from his feet and answer the question. “You’ve lived with her since you were kids. Is she into shifters? Or do her tastes run even more sordid than that?”
Unbidden, Tempest thought of Pyre, then clucked her tongue in disgust. She stared at Levka, daring him to say something, anything.
“Well, let’s just say I would never touch a woman who’d been sullied by such trash,” he muttered without looking at her.
Tempest couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was he really insulting her right now? Putting himself above her? As if she was nothing beneath his feet? Was she not the Hound and he the trainee? Some days, she cursed being born a bloody woman. Had she not earned her place on the war council? But it didn’t matter to them. They only cared about what body parts she hid underneath her clothing. As if that dictated her worth. While she didn’t have feelings for Levka, it still hurt to have him dismiss her that way.
“No,” Tempest said, firmly and slowly, so there could be no doubt about what she was saying. “I’m not an animal-screwer. Yet something tells me I would altogether prefer being one than screwing any of you.”
She threw a pointed look Levka’s way and was once more disappointed when he did not respond. Without another word, she forced her way through the group of drunken guards and stalked back to the barracks. She was so tired and angry. Angry at King Destin, who wanted her to do anything to get into the good graces of the Talagan rebels. Angry at her uncles, who were likely responsible for spreading mimkia to all the villages. Angry at Pyre, who was the ruthless, cold-hearted Jester.
Yes, she was angry with Pyre more than anyone else.
She felt guilty—betrayed, even—that she had trusted him even an inkling when he clearly was no better than the people she was currently fighting against as a double agent. He was a rebel, a drug lord, someone who played with the lives of others. What if he really was responsible for the missing children? How could she give him any of her trust at all?
Her shoulders slumped as she finally spied the door to the barracks, but it was short-lived. Her spine stiffened as Levka stepped from a shadowy corner and hovered near the door. How in the hell had he beaten her back? A tiny part of her was impressed by the speed with which he had returned to the barracks.
Long-legged bastard.
“What were you doing out all by yourself?” he demanded, though he had the sense to keep his voice hushed.
That was rich. Tempest crossed her arms over her chest, her patience about to well and truly snap. “It’s none of your business, Levka.”
“Right. You made that fairly clear.” He sighed and rubbed at his brow. Levka’s shoulders slumped, and he had the sense to look abashed. “I know you said you don’t want to associate with me. I know you’re not my property, and that I have no right to ask you to forgive me after what just happened. But I… I don’t know what came over me back there. I don’t. I shouldn’t have acted like that, especially not in front of other people. It’s disrespectful. I know I don’t have any right to know where you were. I’m sorry.”
Tempest almost caved and accepted his earnest apology.