I knit my brow. “Was last time usual? Because I seem to remember him shifting into a wolf and attacking us.”
Cheyenne shrugs, which isn’t at all comforting.
She swings the door open.
The room is just as I remember; a long dining table cuts the space in half, though all but one seat is empty.
At the head is King Declan of Avelea.
He does not appear thrilled to see us.
Of course, Amity does not realize this. She skips right up to the king, whose blond beard has grown even more unkempt since we last saw him, and dips into a rather lopsided curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she says. “I do hope you’ve been behaving in my absence.”
I tense, but if the king is offended, he doesn’t show it. He just wipes his mouth on his napkin, stares at Amity for a moment, then lifts his head to Cheyenne.
“I see your family has come for a visit,” he says, sounding more resigned than threatening.
Cheyenne walks across the marble floor, hands clasped behind her back as she approaches the king and bows. “Yes, Your Majesty. They sent correspondence ahead. I believe they have a request they wish for you to grant.”
“Hm.” The king stares at Amity again. He has the strange look of a male who is probably quite handsome—underneath the untrimmed scruff and altogether lack of will to leave the house, at least. “And what is your request?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Amity beats me to it. “Your nose, Your Majesty.”
He whips his head to me. “My nose?”
“My wife is missing, kidnapped by Queen Abra of Mystral. We request assistance tracking her. We hoped with your ability to shift, and the possessions of hers we brought along, you might be able to track her for us,” I explain.
The king looks at Cheyenne, dumbfounded. “Does your family forget that I am a king and not a bounty hunter to be hired?”
“Apparently,” Cheyenne says through gritted teeth, but I can’t tell if the exasperation in her tone is directed toward me or the king. “But, Your Majesty, as you’ve already said, this is my family.”
Declan examines her for a moment. “Do we not consider one another family?”
Cheyenne’s face actually softens, which surprises me. I forget sometimes that Declan was the one who raised her from the time she was a child. “Of course we do. But one might say that, by proxy, that makes them your family too.” Then, her voice lowers ever so slightly. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Take care of each other’s families?”
The king stills, and if I were the superstitious sort, I could swear I feel another presence settle upon the room.
The hair stands on the back of my neck.
“Your Majesty,” Amity asks, “where is your family?”
I freeze, because I know instantly it’s the wrong question. The king stiffens, and I know, just know, he’ll deny our request. But then Cheyenne takes Amity by the hand. “They’re away, but only temporarily.”
Again, an icy presence coats the room. This time, Amity shivers too.
PART V
MARTYR
CHAPTER 74
BLAISE
I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting from Piper. The Red. Whatever she is. When I first heard of the Gifted female who made her living stealing children from their homes, a twinge of disgust had rippled through me.
Or maybe it hadn’t. It had been the night I met Az at the inn, when I was on my way back to confront Farin, and I’d overheard a group of mercenaries speaking of her, debating over whether she was the head of her operation.
Actually, I think I’d been too consumed in my worry over Nox’s life to have much of a reaction to the gossip.
That had been right after I Turned, and my feelings had vacillated through spells of extreme apathy, to extreme anguish, to extreme desire.
But then Kiran and Evander had spoken of Piper, how she was being transported in the care of Princess Lydia, and I suppose I had found myself disgusted with her.
I’d thought of her as Clarissa, really. Or, at least, the picture of Clarissa I’d held in my mind all those years. The woman willing to sell a stolen child for enough coin to buy herself a frilly dress.
But then I’d met Amity, seen the adoration she held for Piper, her adoptive mother, whom she missed so terribly, and I’d come to question how I felt about the other woman.
Of course, I’d had more pressing issues on my mind at the time, so if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t spent too much time pondering the ethics of the woman now trudging through the woods before me.
I’d been thinking of Nox.
But Nox is gone, and I can’t bear to think of him any longer.
So the ethics of a child kidnapper, it is.
“You risked your husband’s life back there.” My voice cracks with disuse, much like the brambles under our feet. “In saving me, rather than stopping Nox from killing Abra. Why?”
I’m not sure why the words come out so sharp, so accusatory. I don’t mean for them to, but it’s like the pain inside me has swollen to the point of being too big for my body. It’s punching through my skin, spouting out my mouth and searching for the nearest target with a heart to shred.
