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

For a single instant, Elia clenched a fist. The urge to strike his shoulder was strong, but she couldn’t bring herself to hit an injured man. “Your house?”

“And I’ll fix the latch after I take you home,” Cass said, though he cast a doubtful look toward the windows. “Whenever that may be.”

Was it dimmer out than it had been? All she saw beyond the windows was a sea of driving white, and if it was a shade more blue than it had been, she did not know if it meant heavy cloud cover or fading light. She swallowed. “And here you let me root around looking for things, when you could have just told me where everything was.”

“I did tell you where everything was.”

And here she’d thought he was just making lucky guesses. “I don’t suppose you have any medicine you might want to tell me about, then?”

Cass frowned. “I have acerglyn.”

“Not what I had in mind.” Although she supposed it would help with the pain. Elia considered the benefits a cup might bring him, though she tempered it with uncertainty. Just because he’d saved her from her would-be kidnappers didn’t mean it was wise to let him drink. He was a stranger, after all.

“Then I won’t have to share.” His deadpan delivery made her suspect he wasn’t joking.

“You wouldn’t need to. I’ve no interest.”

“Ah, so the only part of the crop you like is sugar?” That, on the other hand, was accompanied by a wry smirk. Of course he’d pick at that.

Elia gave him a stern frown. “None of those cakes were intended for me, and if you can’t help me get that sugar, I’d rather not discuss the matter.” Come to think of it, could he help? The thought softened the lines in her brow, then a new thought came to her and they grew deeper than before. “You said you work for Peretor’s uncle? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

Cass gave a one-shouldered shrug, sparing his stitched side the movement. “Came in the fall. Signed on for this season.”

“And that gave you enough time to build a cabin?” She motioned toward the ceiling.

“The cabin’s Vinson’s. Rent is part of my pay.” And that he knew the sugarmaker’s name gave his story some credence. From the hint of vindication that crossed his face, he knew it, too. “Cups are on the shelf beside the barrel.”

She crossed her arms. “No, thank you.”

“I meant for me, but that’s fine. I don’t need the help.” He pushed himself up from the hearth and crossed the room. His hand went for a cup, but his head turned toward the window and he went still.

A prickle of alarm made the fine hairs rise at the base of her skull. “What?”

His fingers curled into his palm. “Get under the bed.”

“What?” she repeated, her voice cracking. “I can’t—”

“Now,” Cass barked.

A chill rolled down her spine and instead of arguing, she slid from the fireplace and crawled to the bed. It was low and narrow, but she flattened herself to the floor and wriggled underneath.

A thump sounded against the door. Elia pressed herself closer to the wall, watching his boots as he stalked toward her. He stopped at the bedside. The drawers rasped and fabric rustled.

Another thump.

He strode to the entryway and reclaimed his abandoned axe from the floor.

The cloak he’d crammed into the hole fluttered downward. A gust of cold followed.

“Who’s there?” Cass asked, his voice booming over the roar of the winds outside.

Another voice answered, low and too muffled for Elia to make out.

Cass evidently had no problem, for he snorted and reached for the cloak. “And let the whole blizzard in? Take shelter somewhere else! It’s bad enough someone busted my latch.”

For a time, all she heard was the wind. Then something struck the door with enough force to make the whole house shudder.

The bar scraped free and the door burst open, but instead of someone coming in, Cass went out. At the same time, something moved beyond the far window, blocking the light and casting long, crawling shadows across the floor.

Elia covered her mouth with one hand and lay as still as she could, though cold coursed across the floor and wracked her body with shivers. Even her good woolen coat couldn’t shelter her from such wind.

She expected voices. Sounds of violence. A roar, a shout, anything. Instead, only silence graced her ears.

She should have gone out, too. Should have taken something from the house to use as a weapon, stepped outside and demanded whoever was out there tell her what had happened to Peretor. They hadn’t been in the little cabin long enough for their visitors to be anyone but the men who had taken him.

And tried to take you, too, she reminded herself sharply.

Snow whirled in through the open doorway, accumulating against the edges of furniture and the grooves in the wooden floor. Part of her longed to slide out and close the door, but a shadow moved beside the window again and she made herself be still.

The shadow lingered, then deepened. Bit by bit, the room grew darker. Elia craned her neck to try and see what was going on, but the low bed hindered her movement. Then the shadow was in the doorway. A pair of boots came into view and stomped to shed snow as the door slid closed and the room grew dim. A low rumble of displeasure—one she recognized as Cass—broke the silence.

Elia hesitated. Was she supposed to slide out now? Or was she supposed to wait?

“Wind blew out the candles.” He sounded more frustrated than mere candles should cause. She recognized the statement as instructions, though, so she wiggled her way to the edge of the bed.

“What happened? Why is it dark?” She grasped the edge of the bed frame to pull herself out, but the angle was awkward and she had no space for her elbows to bend.

He glanced at her, his expression guarded, but it softened a shade when he saw her predicament. He leaned down and she extended a hand, anticipating assistance. Instead, he hooked a hand beneath the bed and lifted its side two feet off the floor.

Elia lay flat on her back and blinked up at him. “Oh. Thank you.”

Cass waved for her to move and she scooted out from under the bed.

“Are you certain you should be doing that?” she asked as she pushed herself to her feet. “You were just stabbed.” Her eyes went to his side, but he’d dressed while she was hiding.

“On the left. My right half is fine.” He lowered the bed to the floor once she was out of the way, though he winced as he dipped. The fingers of his left hand flexed, betraying the pain he couldn’t quite hide.

She frowned. “You’d better sit and rest. It doesn’t look like that storm will let us go anywhere any time soon, so I’ll see if I can figure out something for us to eat.”

He sank to sit on the bed. “There’s glue on the shelf up there.”

Elia followed his pointing finger with her eyes. “Glue?”

“Soup base.”

“Oh.” A hint of color touched her cheeks. She rose on tip-toe to find the odd little box of dark, tarry blocks. She’d never used it, though her brothers had mentioned the crude stuff in their stories about their time in the king’s armies. It was even less pleasant-looking than they had described. “You haven’t got anything fresh for me to boil into a broth?”

“I beg your pardon, noblewoman. Let me just go find a pheasant in the woods.” He jerked his head toward the door, where the hole above the latch still let snow and bitter winds into the cabin.

Elia bit her lower lip. His discarded cloak was on the floor, so she put the box of soup base on the mantel and went to plug the hole again. “Who was out there, anyway?” she asked softly, sidestepping his sarcasm. “What did they want?”

“They were looking for you. Not the same group I fought, I don’t think. They didn’t recognize me.”

The same group they fought. She caught the correction before it left her tongue, assuming he wasn’t in the mood for pedantry. “No one you recognized, either? No sugarmakers?”

He shook his head.

She didn’t think anyone she knew would have seen her—other than Peretor—but she had hoped, all the same.

In retrospect, she wasn’t sure anyone knew where she had gone. She certainly hadn’t told her father. Bertan was clever, though. Would he figure out that she’d gone to see Vinson for sugar and assume she’d been caught in the blizzard?

Cass said nothing else, so eventually, she gave a small and thoughtful hum.

“Do you know what they were talking about? Those roughs who took Peretor? Who their boss is, or where they were going?” She wasn’t sure it was the right subject for conversation, but it was all she had. He hadn’t seemed receptive to her chatter about herself or what she’d been doing.

“I know less than you,” he replied dryly. “You got there first. I was only there to save you.”

In fact, he didn’t seem receptive to chatter at all. By the Light, how had she ended up stranded with the most sullen person imaginable? She touched the bar on the door, as if checking it might increase its strength, then recalled her first assignment. She still hadn’t relit the candles. She collected them from where they’d been placed around the room, then lit them in the fireplace and returned them to their homes.

For a time, it was quiet.

When she went to refill the kettle with clean water, he spoke. “I closed the shutters.”

“I noticed.” She’d seen it in how the room dimmed while she hid.

“I don’t know if we should expect spies.”

“From the group that took my friend?” She looked toward the dark window, then the barrel in the corner. She’d clean out the soup kettle first. Then she’d figure out how to turn that ugly soup base into something edible.

“Or whoever sent them. I don’t think they suspected anything, since I wasn’t dressed to be out anymore. But you never know.”

Part of her wondered if it would have been better to be taken. Her father’s money hadn’t convinced the man who held a dagger to her throat, but it might have convinced whoever employed the fellow.

There was little doubt she’d be returned home swiftly and safely in exchange for a healthy sum.

Yet Cass had said he’d take her home, too. She smothered the part of her that longed for the safety of her father’s manor, silently promising it would have its way soon enough. As soon as the storm subsided and he could escort her back to Samara, everything would be back to normal. But would that be tomorrow? Or days from now? She cast a thoughtful look over her shoulder.

He still sat on the bed, though he’d unbuttoned his shirt and cradled his injured side with his hand. His eyes were closed, but his forehead was smooth, revealing no pain.

Despite his gruffness, he didn’t strike her as threatening. He’d already saved her. He’d taken a knife for her. Scooped up his axe and gone out to chase away the ruffians who’d come looking for her. If she couldn’t trust him after that, who could she trust?

She finished cleaning the kettle and refilled it from the barrel. “My father will reward you for what you’ve done,” she offered. “As long as I make it home safe and unharmed, I expect he’ll pay you handsomely.”

Apparently, the statement wasn’t as subtle as she thought. His eyes cracked open and he regarded her with suspicion. “You think I’d do something to harm you after taking a knife to the side to get you out of trouble?”

“Well, I…” She fumbled for words. “I’d hope you wouldn’t.”

He grunted, a single note of displeasure that told her nothing beyond that he didn’t appreciate the insinuation. Instead of starting any argument, though, he shifted to lay down. “I don’t want your father’s money.”

“What do you want, then?”

“You out of my house.”

Elia decided not to be offended. She sat the kettle beside the fire. “I don’t suppose you have vegetables?”

“Wooden box under the table.” He kept his right hand clamped over his side and draped the left over his eyes.

She wasn’t impressed by the offering of root vegetables in the box, but she would make do. If there were any herbs or spices hidden around the cabin, even those could be made into something impressive. She selected a few, found a knife among the dishes, and returned to the fire. “When I’m done with this, I’ll figure out some way to bandage you up. It’ll heal better if it stays moist.”

“Lucky me,” Cass muttered. “A healer, a seamstress, and a cook. What can’t you do?”

“Fight off a swarm of brigands on my own, apparently.”

He snorted.

Ah, so there was a sense of humor in there. Elia allowed herself a tiny smile. The situation was awkward and far from ideal, but perhaps he’d warm up to her.

If he didn’t, she suspected the blizzard outside would be a very long storm.