A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

“I am not some prattling servant,” she snaps, anger flashing in her eyes. “You would not believe the secrets I keep. Secrets that could sink a great many influential people if I had aspirations for playing the games of these fools who call themselves noble.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She sniffs, but my apology seems to calm her. “I imagine finding her won’t be as difficult as getting a message to you without notice. But I will think of a way. And I would suggest you be very careful who you trust within the walls of that castle.”

“Funny. I was told to not trust you.”

“And you shouldn’t, but at least I will never deign to wear the skin of a devoted ally to hide the fact that I am your foe.” She curtsies. “I look forward to seeing you at the royal repast, though for whatever game you two are playing, I hope you and the king can put on a better show than you have thus far.”

Mika is hanging out the window, stroking the muzzle of a horse within reach when we arrive back at the carriage.

“I don’t believe a stroll through the rookery as you requested is advisable, Your Highness,” Elisaf says.

“Maybe not, given our passengers.” I’m sure Gracen is feeling as discombobulated as I was the night I woke up on the royal grounds.

“Also, because you’ve spent all our coin. We wouldn’t have much to dole out.”

I struggle to suppress my smile at the guards trailing us, their arms laden with bolts of fabrics—all of them necessary, according to Dagny and Odier. “Maybe tomorrow, then.”

“The king will be pleased to hear it.”

I snort. “I’m sure.”

Elisaf glances to the nearest guard, and he lowers his voice. “What did Bexley want?”

I falter over the truth. Surely, whatever I tell Elisaf will make its way back to Zander as it has so far. But Zander also insisted on keeping what we learned from Tyree between us. Who is it among them that he doesn’t trust? It can’t be Elisaf, could it? If that were the case, why would he assign him to my protection?

And yet Bexley’s warning has slid under my skin and taken root, and I can’t shake this sense of foreboding that she knows far more about my situation than she’s letting on. “To make sure I call you Eli from now on.” Zander’s conspiracy theory is making me as paranoid as him. Still, if Zander wants Elisaf knowing about the seer, he can tell him.

He shakes his head and chuckles, but he doesn’t press.

Mika sees me and waves his misshapen hand emphatically, as if we’re old friends. It’s comforting to know that Danthrin might have abused him but he didn’t steal his ability to still be a child.

An idea strikes me. “Do you think Wendeline could help him?”

Elisaf scratches his chin in thought. “It might be too old a wound, but it is worth her looking at. I will call for her to meet us at the castle.”

I have a better idea. “No need to drag her all the way out. Let’s stop at the sanctum on the way.”

“Try that.”

Mika holds his injured hand in the air in front of him and extends his fingers as far as he can. While they’re not entirely straight, they’ve certainly improved. He grins.

To Gracen, Wendeline says, “I was able to fix the nerve damage, but I can’t do much for the scars. Mortal skin is more delicate, and it’s been too long since it happened. But, with some daily stretching exercises, he should have full use of it again.”

“Thank you, Priestess. This is more than we could ever have prayed for.” She smooths her hand over her swollen belly.

Wendeline tracks the move with a tired smile. “How far along are you?”

“Eight months. This one has been particularly difficult.”

Wendeline reaches forward, but then hesitates. “May I?”

With a wary glance my way, Gracen nods.

Wendeline presses her hand against Gracen’s belly and closes her eyes. She’s been picking at her fingernails since she healed me yesterday. For many hours, I would guess. They’re down to the quick, and in one spot, painfully so. That’s the sign of a person who is nervous, conflicted.

Bexley’s warning has rattled me.