“Should I call the guards?” she wondered aloud only to get his boyish laugh in return.
“You would only summon my guards, which wouldn’t be very helpful if you wanted someone to defend you from me.” He smirked.
Gandrett didn’t mention there were about twelve different ways to bring him down right now if she wanted, the cleaner ones involving a knife to his throat, the not so clean ones involving the steaming pot of tea and the red sash that had been wrapped around a small vase holding a yellow flower. She cocked her head, letting go of the pendants.
“Deelah mentioned you liked these.” He picked up a bothenia crust and flipped it in the air, catching it with one hand before he took a ravaging bite.
“Why are you here?” Gandrett was still pushing back the nightmare as Armand set down the tray on the covers and slid an inch closer.
“You asked me for a tour of the castle. Here I am.” He inclined his head. “At your service, milady.”
Gandrett loosed a breath and extracted one hand from under the covers to pick up a bothenia crust, her smile half-real.
She couldn’t help it. Despite the unsolved mysteries around Armand’s person, there was something comforting about his presence.
“Breakfast first,” she said and blinked at him, reminding herself that despite the growing familiarity with Armand, she should at least try to remain in character. Especially with the information Deelah had entrusted to her. “Then I want to see every last corner of this fortress.”
Armand grinned, the sorrow of their last conversation forgotten. “I’ll send Deelah to help you get dressed,” he said, his glance wandering down to where Gandrett had failed to keep the blanket at her chin as she bit into the bothenia crust. “As much as I enjoy the view, the rest of the court shouldn’t be so lucky.” With those words, he got up and strode to the door—the one to the hallway.
Gandrett glimpsed down, finding the strap of her nightgown had slid down her shoulder. She cursed and leaned forward, pouring herself a cup of tea, and waited.
This way of living—people who brought breakfast to her bed, a hot bath at any time of the day, bothenia crust—it was more than Gandrett could have ever hoped for after all the hardship of her childhood, the years of fighting and honing her skills, the pain of the Meister’s wrath…
And yet, even as she was a slave to the House of Brenheran, with a Fae male ready to snap her neck with a gust of air if she defied the orders of Lord Tyrem, she got a glimpse of what real freedom could be like. The freedom from the oath to Vala, freedom to think of a future for herself, maybe even with some nice man in her company…
Her mind drifted back to the powerful Fae who may or may not have kissed her, his eyes like blue diamonds, his silky, dark hair covering those pointed ears even when his glamour slipped. She didn’t even let herself think of the force of nature he was when they sparred, how his muscles played under his shirt when he wielded his sword in his hands. No.
The door clicked and Deelah walked in, a conspiring grin on her lined features and a flowing chiffon gown slung over her arm. “You’ll be spending all day in Armand’s company,” she said by way of greeting. Then, as she spotted the tray on the bed, she continued, “So he listened to my advice, for a change.”
It was hard, so hard, to see how Armand and Deelah acted as if Gandrett had always been in their lives. It made her task even more difficult—because eventually, she would betray them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Armand helped her down the stairs—she let him. After half a day of meandering through the hallways, most of which she had already seen, her stomach growled more from boredom than real hunger. She had devoured at least four bothenia crusts and ignored Deelah’s comments about how she wouldn’t fit in the delicate, dusty-blue gown now flowing freely like the ocean in the east they had been watching from the battlements on the north tower.
“I wish I could go there one day,” she said, half a thought still on the glistening waters beyond the land that lay cleaved between two courts.
Armand grinned sheepishly and tugged lightly on her arm—a motion which would have a less trained girl sent stumbling into his arms. “I can take you—one day.” He watched her descend step after step in graceful balance.
The balance of a fighter, not a lady, but she didn’t let his thoughts wander there and said, “One day,” and batted her lashes the way Mckenzie had shown her. The way that had made Brax stare. A smile stole itself onto her lips. “But first, I’d love to see the more secret places of the castle…” She felt her own heart pounding as she spoke. “The ones where no one will disturb us.”
His answering grin was imperial, and Gandrett wondered if she was playing with a sort of fire that Vala wouldn’t be able to quench with her water.
But she still had her dagger strapped to her thigh. If Vala wouldn’t help, she would.
So he led her down. Down, down, down. Until they reached the empty hallways of the north tower, accelerating Gandrett’s pulse with every step they descended. The light grew fainter as they entered the lower floors, and what chambers they passed were empty, not even a piece of furniture left.
“What happened here?” Gandrett’s tension originated from something more than Armand’s hand, now clasped tightly around hers.
As they moved past empty room after empty room, the castle felt less and less like the inhabitable space her chambers provided but like a tomb.
“What you see is the tower of the last Dragon King.” Armand spoke as if that was something to be proud of. “What’s left of it,” he added with a grin.
Gandrett stopped dead. She had heard it in the countless lessons from the Meister that the dragons of the north had played a part in why the Calma Desert existed. Why the lands, once lush and fertile, now lay barren, hostile to any sort of life.
But there was more. She remembered bedtime stories about the Dragon King. How he had ridden on his snow-white beast. How he had bent the territories of Neredyn to his terror. And even Nahir had spoken of the legends. The Dreads of the Skies.
“He resided here for a short while during his reign,” Armand continued, gently tugging on Gandrett’s hand in encouragement to keep walking.
“That was a thousand years ago,” she said flatly.
“It was.” He laughed at the concern in her eyes. “There is nothing left of the Dragon King. My ancestors made certain of it.”
Had Gandrett thought the tour boring before? She could now feel her muscles tighten as if they were readying for battle.
“How long did he…” She searched for the right word. “How long did he stay in Eedwood?”
“Just a few months,” he responded, his voice melodious as he studied her from the side. “As we know from history, he had bigger plans than Eedwood. Than Sives.”
It sounded so simple. And yet, the meaning of it was tremendous.
“No one ever comes here.” He gave her a meaningful look. “We don’t even need to shut off the corridors that lead to this tower.”
As if to mock Armand, footsteps filled the hallway.
Armand stopped, pulling Gandrett to a halt with him. His free hand was at his sword before she could think about digging up her dagger. No. Not yet. She would see first if there was danger before she exposed her disguise.