A weighty pause. “Not really. Destin sending his sons off is interesting, though. We might be able to work with that. Other than that, a few of my men were captured two days ago by the king’s guards. They’ve been sentenced to death.”
Her jaw dropped. “You should have led with that! What can I do to help? Do you want me to—I don't know—appeal for their release? Break them out? We can’t leave them to—”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We can’t afford to break them out. It would do more harm than good for the resistance.”
Temp blinked slowly and tugged on her left ear. Surely, she was hearing things. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.”
She swallowed. How could he so callously allow his friends and allies to die when he could very well save them? Her stomach turned.
You’re not dealing with Pyre. He’s the Jester now. Don’t forget that for one second.
And then, as if they hadn’t just been discussing the imminent and potentially preventable deaths of his comrades, the mercurial kitsune returned to his fractured mirror and smoothed down the fabric of his robe. He fussed with the collar and then untied the sash at his waist, exposing his chiseled chest and abdomen. Heat filled her cheeks. Why was she attracted to this criminal?
He raised an eyebrow at Tempest. “How do I look?”
“Like a drug lord with more money than sense,” she replied, simply to get a rise out of him. In truth, Pyre’s finely made clothes looked as if they had been made for him and him alone. The gold robe and silk trousers accentuated the rich colors of his hair and complemented the amber tone of his skin.
The man’s easy smile quickly faded, his mouth setting into a hard line, his first real sign of displeasure. Gone was the amused twinkle in Pyre’s eye.
Good.
She only wished she could have investigated the mimkia problem, and the overarching issue of King Destin’s lack of guilt over willingly sacrificing his subjects to mimkia to instigate a war, without the use of an underworld kingpin. But as luck would have it, that was not the case. It didn’t mean Tempest had to like working with Pyre, nor make it easy for him to work with her.
Before the kitsune could fire back a retort or a warning, the sound of footsteps approaching pulled his attention from her. She huffed out a breath and turned in the direction of the newcomer. Pyre sauntered forward, leaning a hip against the back of her chair, effectually blocking her view from who’d entered the room.
She bristled. Stubborn man. Tempest craned her neck to get a glance of the person who’d entered. A man swathed in a plain, dark cloak paused a few paces from the exit. The ornate, silver chains clasping his cloak shut glinted in the candlelight. He lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal black, greasy hair slicked back from a sharply receding hairline. His pale eyes shifted around the chamber as if calculating the price of everything in the room. He caught Tempest’s stare and smiled, exposing rotten, yellowed teeth.
Nasty.
“I see we are not alone,” the man said, not looking away from Tempest. His gaze unapologetically roved over what he could see of her body.
Pyre ignored the statement. “What news do you have, Tam?”
Tam shrugged. “The guards have stepped up their security around the perimeter of Dotae. Some kids went missing, apparently. Don’t know when we’ll get the next shipment through.”
Tempest eyed Pyre’s silk-clad shoulders. What kind of shipment?
“We needed those drugs yesterday, and now you’re telling me you have no idea when they’ll get through?” The kitsune sounded less than pleased.
Tempest gaped at him in disbelief. Though she had only just called Pyre a drug lord, she hadn’t really meant it or, at the very least, hadn’t really thought about what it meant. That Pyre, as the Jester, was responsible for the drug problems she saw affecting the poor and homeless in Dotae so terribly. He might not have been the one peddling mimkia to the villages but that apparently didn’t stop him distributing less deadly—but no less addictive—substances to the people of Heimserya.
Her lip curled, but she refrained from saying anything. Both men seemed to have forgotten her presence. All the better. She needed as much information as she could get.
“Ain’t nothing I can do about the guards. It was your foolish plan,” Tam said.
The Jester closed the gap between him and Tam.
Temp blinked at the spot Pyre had held prior. He moved so fast. What else was he capable of? She tucked her unease away as the Jester towered over Tam, a snarl rumbling in his chest. Her heart pounded in her chest as the kitsune began to shift, his face becoming more inhuman with every passing second. Maybe it was time for her to slink away. She inched away from her chair.
“That is what I pay you to do,” Pyre growled. He grabbed a handful of the man’s cloak. “All of your finery and fancy clothes are paid for by me. If you cannot get rid of a few guards—or find another route into the city—I shall find someone to replace you. And you won’t like that… trust me.”
Tempest paused. That was a death threat, if she’d ever heard one. Between this and Pyre’s disregard for his own, doomed men, she wondered how much of the compassion and love she had witnessed back in the Talagan shifter village had been genuine.
Was it really all a ruse to convince her to work with him? An elaborate, disgusting set-up to force her to betray her own people? Her gut clenched. Just what had she gotten herself into?
Her head gave another painful throb, thanks to the Jester’s henchman. Sweet poison, she needed some sleep and a headache tincture from Aleks. Tomorrow, after Destin’s compulsory war council breakfast was over and she began her mission, officially, to reintegrate herself into the rebel alliance, she would pick apart the matter until she knew exactly how to handle Pyre.
Temp surreptitiously crept toward the exit of the cave, deciding it was better to slink away than address Pyre once more. Who knew what else he’d reveal tonight? She didn’t have any more energy to try to figure him out. She slipped past a shadowed cove, making it past the Jester and Tam without notice, and got closer to her destination.
Just as she thought she’d made it free, a familiar hand grabbed at her shoulder and forced a bag over her head once more. Temp huffed but didn’t fight Brine. No use incurring any more bumps or bruises. She knew when to fight and when to surrender.
“You really think I’d let you walk out of here alone, eyes open, did you?” Brine growled, jabbing his claws into Tempest’s back to push her forward.
“Of course not,” she mumbled beneath the bag, her mood souring even further. “Do you have to be so rough? What did I ever do to you?”
Brine didn’t answer but at least she didn’t feel the sting of his claws again as they moved toward what she presumed was Dotae. How far away was Pyre’s den of extravagance from the capital anyway? Minutes? Hours? Her feet already ached, and they’d only just begun.
Fifteen minutes later, the bag was torn from her head, revealing to her the edge of the forest closest to Dotae’s border. Thank the stars. She turned to face Brine, just as he grabbed the front of her dress.
His eyes seemed to glow as he muttered, “You might have the Jester fooled into believing you’re useful, bitch, but you haven’t fooled me. The first time I see you stepping out of line… well, it will be your last.”