A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

“What kind of business?” they both asked at the same time.

I smiled at Maxim, ignoring Weston who still stood behind me. “It’s called my business, none of yours.”

It was quiet for a moment, and I noticed Maxim exchanging a look with Weston above my head. Plans. They were making them. Well, if anything, I could say I brought them together. This wasn’t a time for jests, though; my skin was tingling cold in nervousness, but still, “Really? How many princes does it take to catch one girl?” slipped from my lips.

The next few days were going to be rocky, but the only other option was leaving the city, escorted by six Untouchables.

Pulling my wrists behind me, Weston took my silver cuff off and threw it to Maxim, who caught it like they were the best of friends. Why was he taking my cuff?

Weston held my wrists with one hand, and leaning down, he spoke softly in my ear, “Go north, to a sleepy town where you belong. Live your life. Marry your blacksmith.”

Why did the idea make my stomach churn in revulsion when he said it? I stared blankly at the Untouchables making their way toward us. “I plan to do all that,” I said indifferently, “but not yet.”

“I thought we could coexist here for a short while, Calamity, but it’s obviously not going to happen. If you don’t leave this city, you leave me no choice. Don’t make me force your way.”

Coexist? We were coexisting just fine a moment ago, weren’t we? My chest tightened at the betrayal.

“You have a profound way of ordering people about,” I told him, my throat thick with the decision I had to make.

He pulled back. “You were groomed to be a ridiculous, spoiled little girl . . . I was groomed to tell you what to do. It’s what we do best.”

“Perfect fit then, aren’t we?” I asked sarcastically.

“It’s a shame we can’t find out.” His drawl ran down my spine, the innuendo settling around us like sweltering, lazy air, reminding me of his rough hands on my skin.

I swallowed. “Weston?”

“What? Wait, I know this—you hate me?”

Watching Maxim talk to his men, I replied, “I do. I really do dislike you. I even have a list, in fact, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“A list?”

“Mmhmm. Would you like to see it?”

He watched me, slightly amused. “I think I’ll leave it to my imagination.”

I shrugged. “Your loss.”

“Go on, get out what you were going to say, then. Maxim’s men will take you home and then wherever you need to go. You can find Mages for hire in Shelton,” he said, mentioning the nearby city where magic wasn’t banned. “I wouldn’t mention you are a Sister, though.”

The Court of Mages was only one of our foes.

“Oh, I can fast-travel myself,” I said absently, chewing my lip. Well, not completely the truth, but I wasn’t going to tell him my magic was defective. “I was going to say that I’m not leaving. And I am not ridiculous.”

He paused, looking down at me. “Yea, you are. As for you leaving . . . shall I carry you out? You love when I do that.”

I bit my lip. “Can I see one of your knives?”

He flicked his gaze to me, watching me as if I’d lost my marbles. But then with a thoughtful tick of his jaw, he reached behind him to the waistband of his pants, and pulled out a small blade, setting it in my palm. Why wouldn’t he? He didn’t fear me. There wasn’t anything I could do with this knife that he couldn’t stop beforehand.

He might have an idea of who I was, heard stories of where I came from, but he didn’t know what I really was—and I realized that the moment he set his blade in my hand.

Maxim finished talking to his men and came to stand by us, his gaze growing hesitant as he saw a blade in my hand, then looked to Weston as if he was mad. “Yes, give the knife to the pretty, scorned witch.”

“You never did answer my question,” I said, playing the sharp point of the blade across my fingertips.

Maxim raised a brow.