He’d disappeared like a bloody specter.
Tempest stared out of the window, trying to figure out how he managed to ghost the Hounds’ training yard without being caught. Wicked hell, he drove her nuts. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aggravation pulsing through her veins. His dramatic visit had thrown her off kilter. Why would he risk so much by coming here? Was it a test? Was he spying on her? Was it a test of mental warfare?
She dropped to her bed, bouncing. Tempest leaned back against her pillow. Pyre’s smug expression was burned into her mind. Or was his visit just an adrenaline high for the cocky kitsune? Surely, he wouldn’t be that stupid… Had she really bruised his ego the night before when she’d disappeared? He couldn’t have been that offended if his wolf had escorted her out. Plus, what was she supposed to have done? He’d been in the middle of intimidating a creepy subordinate. Nothing could have convinced her to hang around and witness more of his act as the Jester.
“And besides,” she grumbled, closing her eyes against the headache that never seemed to leave her these days, “the argument we’d been having wasn’t exactly one that would be good to have continued.”
Stop talking to yourself.
Exhaustion and anger were not the best companions while she was trying to outmaneuver the enemy… Well, Pyre was an uneasy ally, at the very least. He wasn’t the hero, and last night proved that even further. He all but flaunted his position of authority in the underworld. Their conversation from the night before still chilled her. Lives weren’t worth anything to him—even the lives of his own men.
How much do you think he values your life?
A wry smile twisted her lips. Not much, she mused. Their relationship was tenuous at best; after last night, Tempest had wondered how they’d interact with each other going forward. With the way Pyre had just treated her, it seemed he had no qualms about going back to the way they were before she knew his identity. What did that mean? She didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. Regardless, she’d have to tread carefully. Pyre was playing games with her. He wasn’t the jovial fox from the forest. He was the Jester. A dangerous criminal with ties to the Dark Court. She didn’t doubt for one second that he would plant a knife in her back if need be.
Not if you get him first.
She stared at the ceiling as her annoyance crept in. He hadn’t explained a single thing to her. Her brows furrowed. Apparently, he didn’t have any important news to pass on, so did that mean she was a side quest? Irritation pricked her at the notion. Tempest scowled at the ceiling and shoved the feeling(s) down, not wanting to examine why it bothered her so.
Why was he really in the capital?
Tempest breathed in deeply, trying to center herself. Pine, spice, and a male scent swirled around her. She jerked upright and glared at her pillow. Even without a shifter nose, she could scent Pyre on her sheets. What had he done, rolled all over them? She huffed. Why did he smell so good?
He smells of home.
Too enticing.
“Bloody male.”
She forced herself out of bed, hating how her thoughts kept circling back to Pyre, no matter how she tried to wave them off. Tempest yanked the bedding from her mattress. There was no way she was sleeping in a bed that smelled like the Jester. She dropped the linens at the end of her bed and eyed the blank invitation sitting on the trunk. She plucked it from the surface and held it up to the light, inspecting it carefully.
It couldn’t truly be blank.
She turned the card this way and that. And then, between one blink and the next, the invitation caught the last ray of sunlight streaming through her window. Tempest squinted. Etched into the card in an impossibly intricate fashion was, unmistakably, a mask.
“What do we have here?” she whispered.
The handiwork was beautiful. She’d never seen anything like it. Tempest ran her finger over the mask. She couldn’t feel a difference between the art and the card stock. What sort of trickery and magic was this? What was it for? Pyre had said to wear something nice. Could it be for a party or event? Maybe a gathering of rebels? She smiled. If that was the case, there’s no way he would let her near it. She knew he trusted her about as much as she trusted him.
A criminal gathering, then.
It would be so easy to just ignore the Jester’s orders and stay right where she was. He didn’t have any authority over her, but the king did. He’d given her the order to leave on her mission. Glancing around the empty barracks, she sighed. Better to leave now before Destin checked up on her.
She tucked the card into the top of her steel-boned corset and adjusted her shirt, so she was properly covered. Next, Tempest packed her bag—two changes of practical clothing and many more weapons—purposely leaving behind anything that was feminine. The kitsune didn’t get to dictate what she wore.
“I’m a Hound. An assassin. A warrior.”
She’d be damned if she was going to play dress-up for anyone, let alone her enemy. She and Pyre may well have had a common goal, but that didn’t mean they were on the same side. She’d be mistaken in thinking they were true allies. At the end of the day, they were enemies down to their very core.
And war was coming.
She eyed the empty tub at the rear of the room. It would have been nice to bathe before she left, but it wouldn’t be practical. Traveling was a dirty venture. No need to waste more time. She clasped her cloak around her throat and tossed her knapsack over her shoulder. Time to go.
Her steps were steady as she exited the barracks, intent on heading to the city gates and procuring a horse. She paused as Madrid pushed from the side of the barracks and into her path.
Her heart leapt. How long had he been standing there? Did he know she was a traitor? Oh god, she was going to die. She swallowed and forced herself to remain calm. If he had proof, she’d already be in chains.
Tempest approached him, her gait even, as her heart galloped. She paused before him and waited for him to say something.
He didn’t. How typical of Madrid.
He merely nodded at Tempest and indicated for her to follow him, then proceeded to wind through the city.
The silence between them stretched on for what felt like forever. Her nerves were now somewhat calmed, but she kept a close eye on the street. The Hounds were trained to be invisible. If they wanted, they could haul her off the street without anyone noticing. It used to comfort her. She felt safe and protected. Now, it only brewed unease.
That’s what happens when you betray your kingdom and family.
She sucked in a sharp breath and ignored Madrid as he eyed her. They neared the tunnel parallel to the merchant docks—an exit out of Dotae reserved only for those with special permission from the king. One moment, she could hear the waves crashing against the jetties. The next, Tempest dutifully followed Madrid into the darkness of the tunnel, which swallowed all sounds but the echoes of their boots on the stone. Was this how she died? Her fingers moved to the daggers at her hips. She couldn’t fight off Madrid, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. If this was the end, she’d die as a warrior.
Nothing happened.
Her nerves were frayed and raw by the time they stopped a little way outside of the city walls. Madrid turned to face her, his expression as implacable as ever. It was as if the man had no feelings. She eyed the nearby forest. Had they set up an ambush for her away from the city?