The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)

“Me?” Elia touched a hand to her breastbone.

“They were looking for you. That was why they took me. They wanted to know how to get to you, and someone told them we were friends.” Peretor rubbed the back of his neck, troubled. “I don’t think they knew you when you showed up and tried to fight them off. If they had, they would’ve tried a lot harder to catch you.”

“Why would they want me?” It couldn’t be money. She’d told the very first man who’d captured her that her father had money. He hadn’t seemed to care. Cass hadn’t, either. She turned over his position as a leader of this group in her head, but it only made her dizzy.

“They didn’t tell me, but I’ve been here a couple days. I’ve heard some things.” He bowed his head and looked even more troubled than before.

She tried not to sound exasperated. “Out with it, then! It doesn’t help anything for you to keep it to yourself.”

He motioned for her to settle. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I just… You’re all right? Badger didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” she replied, though she wouldn’t get over that name. Badger. She could see it. Less amusing was the knowledge of the time they’d spent together, though. He hadn’t cared about her family’s wealth. He’d thought her innocent, tried to remove her from the situation. Then her father had suggested they visit the palace, and his attitude had changed. Cass had told her it was because he wanted the king’s help to find Peretor, but if he was a leader of the group, he’d already known where he was—or at least had an idea where to find him.

Peretor sighed. “All right. Well… it’s not good. The leaders—Banne and Badger—they’re trying to get to the king and queen. Banne’s some sort of mercenary killer from Angroth, and Badger’s… he’s Nylmerian, but I think he’s an assassin of some sort.”

“A spy,” she said without thinking.

He looked at her oddly. “What?”

A hint of color touched her cheeks. It was easy to be loose-lipped around her friend. She needed to be more cautious. “There’s a lot to explain. I’ll tell you as much as I can, but you first. I need to know.”

To her relief, he didn’t press. “It’s hard to hear everything from down here, but sometimes they leave the hatch open when someone comes down to bring me food. I hear them arguing then. They were mad when Badger disappeared. Real mad. They thought he turned on them for money when they figured out who you were.”

“But why are they here?” she pressed. “What are they trying to do?”

“Why else would a couple of killers want to get to the king and queen, Elia? They want to kill them. One of them, maybe both. Whoever hired them, they thought the throne was empty when they thought King Gaius was dead, and they aren’t real happy that he’s alive.”

There were any number of people among the nobles who felt the same. People who saw the fact Gaius had survived as an obstacle to their ascent to power. “So they wanted someone else on the throne?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it’s just Kentoria they’re trying to upset, though. They got a messenger in this morning, I heard when they came down. They’ve got people somewhere else, too.”

“Where?”

Peretor shrugged. “I can’t tell you everything. Only what I’ve heard.”

She pursed her lips. “And they let you hear all this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, this time sheepishly. “I don’t think they let me, so much as they didn’t care much. After they questioned me to try to find you, I sort of figured out what they were up to, and then they said I knew too much for them to let me go. But I don’t think they had a real plan of what they were going to do with me when they were done.”

There were no possible outcomes to that which Elia imagined could be good.

“But what about you?” he asked before she could bring up any more questions. “Where did Badger take you when he dragged you off?”

“Home.” She didn’t want to discuss what had happened with Cass. She especially didn’t want to discuss the part where they’d traveled together, camped together, and curled close in each other’s arms. The thought alone made her ears hot.

Blessedly, Peretor mistook her flush for anger. “Did he turn coat for money? Did he try to blackmail your father?”

“No,” she said, and that made her embarrassment worse. “He wanted me to stay there. Safe.” As he’d wanted her to stay put in the palace when he set out again. Somehow, that part of the story had slipped her mind while running through all the questionable things Cass had done. He’d tried to leave her there, stick her somewhere safe and leave her behind while he headed out to retrieve Peretor on his own. She was the one who had insisted on sticking with him. How could he have planned to betray her when he hadn’t planned for her to be there at all?

“Safe?” Peretor repeated. Before he could turn any of his confusion into words, a thump and scrape at the top of the ladder warned them someone was coming back.

Elia stepped closer to the wooden bars, anxious and yet eager to see what news Cass would bring.

Except the man who came down the ladder wasn’t Cass. He carried a tray with two cups and a plate of something on it, and the ring of keys dangled from his fingers.

What was she supposed to do, then? Sit and wait? Cass hadn’t given her any directions for this part. She was just supposed to trust his plan.

They both watched as the man approached the cell’s door.

“Water,” the man said as he leaned down to put the tray on the floor.

Neither one of them moved, but Elia saw the way Peretor watched those keys. Don’t do anything foolish, she thought at him, though thinking it alone wouldn’t help.

Peretor inched toward the bars and reached through to take a cup. “They took her things. Her coat. Can’t you bring a coat for the lady? She’s cold.”

She was nothing of the sort, but she appreciated the thought.

“What makes you think you should be comfortable?” The man glanced at Elia and sneered.

The moment his eyes were on her, Peretor swung the wooden cup up hard. It cracked against the man’s chin and sent him reeling backwards. The keys flew from his hand and clattered against the floor, and Peretor lunged against the bars to grab them.

“Peretor!” Elia squealed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here.” He spun through the keys until he found the right one, then jammed it into the lock.

Her stomach lurched. He had to have been watching closely when she was added to the cell, to find the key so quickly. How was she supposed to tell him she didn’t want to escape without Cass?

The man regained his footing, though he clutched his face with both hands. Elia thought a droplet of blood rolled between his fingers. “You lousy—”

He didn’t finish, for Peretor flung the cell door open into his face, sending him sprawling backwards into the crates.

“Come on!” Peretor caught Elia by the arm and dragged her to the ladder. He shoved her toward it first, then seemed to think better of sending her into possible danger and hurried up the rungs himself.

Behind them, the man who’d brought the water groaned. She dared not look back, nor did she dare to stay in one place now that her friend had set things in motion. The ladder’s rungs were rough, but she ignored the risk of splinters and hurried up after him.

Shouts rose in the cabin’s main room as Peretor launched himself into action. He struck at the first man to come at them, far more capable with his fists than Elia ever would have expected. “Go!” he shouted as he knocked the first assailant to the floor.

She grimaced and bolted for the front door. She only made it a few steps before someone lunged toward her. Did she fight, or did she surrender? She ducked aside, praying the man’s grasping arms would go wide.

Something crashed behind her and she spun with a yelp, just in time to see the chair in Peretor’s grasp fall apart as he lifted it back up from the floor, shattered by the strike that had sent another man sprawling.

Hands tangled in Elia’s hair and dragged her backwards. She shrieked and lashed out backwards, her elbow connecting with her attacker’s chest and knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled and she rounded on him, driving a knee toward his groin. He went down with a howl as she tried to free her hair from his grasp.

The door flew open, letting in a rush of cold air and blinding light. More men launched themselves from the table in the corner, overturning furniture in their rush.

“Run!” Peretor shouted.

At the same time, a door in the far corner slammed open. “What is this?” Cass roared.

Elia’s stomach twisted when she met his eyes. She saw nothing but rage.

Someone grabbed her by the shoulders and swept her feet out from underneath her. Her knees hit the floor hard, and a boot slammed into her back to drive her to the floor. She jerked her head up to try to spare herself, but her chin hit hard and her teeth cracked together hard enough to put tears in her eyes.

Shadows moved in from outside. She couldn’t see how many people came flooding through, but she heard Peretor’s angry shout and frustrated groan as they sent him sprawling, too.

A low growl rose from the corner, followed by thudding boot steps. “You can’t keep prisoners under control for ten minutes? What’s Banne letting you do, drink on duty?” Cass jabbed a finger toward Peretor. “Tie him up and get him back downstairs.”

Elia tried to look up at him, but tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t make out his face, even as he shoved aside the man who stood on her back.

“Sir?” the man questioned.

“If keeping them together gives them ideas, we’ll hold them apart.” Cass seized her by the back of her dress and hauled her up to her knees.

Something smacked flesh and Peretor grunted.

“Don’t hurt him,” Elia gasped.

In response, Cass jammed a cloth into her mouth and twisted her hands behind her back. Her shoulders screamed at the angle and tears of pain spilled down her cheeks.

“We’ve only got the one holding cell,” one of the men said.

“Then I’ll watch her myself.” Cass dragged her to her feet and shoved her toward the door in the corner. She stumbled over a piece of broken furniture—a piece of the chair Peretor smashed, she thought—and instead of catching her, Cass twisted her arms even harder. She fought not to cry out.

A low snort rose from the doorway he pushed her toward. The old man who’d been beside the hearth stood there, a pipe clenched between his teeth. “Thought you said she was more valuable untouched.”

“Shut it, Hanem,” Cass snarled.

The man gave a low, dark chuckle and shuffled out of the way.

Elia almost tripped over her own feet as Cass hurried her into the back room, where a single lit candle meant it was even dimmer than the front. He pushed her hard enough that she thought she might fall, then slammed the door behind them.

With her hands free, she snatched the cloth from her mouth—a handkerchief, she thought, though the Light only knew where it had come from—and threw it to the ground. She wheeled to give him a piece of her mind, but he was already right there, inches away and looming over her like a thundercloud. He grasped her by the arms and steered her backwards, toward a bed in the corner.

Panic leaped in her chest and she pushed back. “Unhand me!”

“No,” he replied through clenched teeth.

The backs of her knees hit the bed and she lost her balance. Instead of giving into the fall, she wrenched an arm free and cracked a slap across his face.

The force of it turned his head and Cass grew still, his eyes screwed closed. Slowly, he stepped back, raising both hands with palms out in a signal for her to stop. Or stay, or settle. She wasn’t quite sure which, but she was disinclined to do any of them. Instead, she drew herself up and clenched her fists at her sides. “How dare you touch me that way? Treat me that way? Badger. They should call you Boar instead, because you’re acting like a—”

“Enough,” he said softly.

It was far from enough. “You have no right to touch me the way you did!” Her legs crossed of their own accord, as if she could undo the sensation of his hands sliding above her knees. No one had ever touched her in such a way. It should have been pleasant, especially with him.

“I was checking to see where you could hide a knife, but I’ll give you that, which is why I’ll accept that I deserved that.” He touched his face, his cheek above his beard now a distinct shade of red. “You’ve got a lot of strength in that arm.”

“And enough strength in my knee to flatten your jewels and drop you to the ground if you so much as touch me again,” she spat.

Again, Cass motioned for her to stop. He put a few paces between them, sat on the side of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.

For a moment, Elia was unsure what to do. She’d expected more of a reaction, maybe heated words fired between the two of them. He said nothing, just exhaled long and slow, his shoulders falling as he slid his hands into his hair and cradled his head. All of a sudden, he went from angry and forceful to weary.

She wrung her hands and took a step back.

“You should probably keep yelling at me,” he murmured, though he didn’t look up. “Keep things convincing.”

That grated. She laced her fingers together and squeezed until her knuckles turned white, lest her hands shake. “As if I have no right to be angry with you?”

He didn’t reply.

She bristled worse. Part of her was glad for it. If she lost her anger, she might lose her nerve. “What does he mean, I’m worth more untouched?”

“What do you think?” he growled as he lifted his head from his hands.

Her eyes skirted the bed and the heat of embarrassment crept up her neck.

He scoffed. “Use your head. You think there’s some other reason I’d take a knife for you?” Venom laced his words, so sharp and bitter it brought tears back to her eyes.

For a time, she couldn’t find words. When she did, they were weak. “I thought I was worth protecting.”

A mix of surprise and confusion broke through the anger on his face and for a moment, he looked more like the man she’d gotten to know over the last several days, the grouchy but gentle man she’d sooner describe as a black bear than a badger.

Then a knock at the door came, chasing away any trace of the Cass she thought she knew, whose arms she’d curled close in that morning.

He scowled and held up a finger, telling her to wait as he crossed the room and jerked open the door.

On the other side stood a figure draped in black, nothing but a shadowy silhouette against the brighter light of the room beyond, where a dozen lanterns now sat lit.

“Good afternoon, Badger,” a woman’s voice said, cold and formal.

Cass gripped the door so tight, his knuckles grew pale. “Banne.”