I looked down at the guard’s outstretched hands, only barely hiding the twist of distaste that tugged at my lip. “Don’t make such a sour face.” Tisaanah crossed her
arms, arching an eyebrow at me. “You know we have no choice in this.”
Fine. Unsuccessfully hiding.
Reluctantly, I unstrapped my staff from my back, casting one more glance out over the city as I turned.
Everything about this place put me on edge.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t quite this. When we first arrived at Mikov’s Court, I realized why people spoke of the lands of the Threllian Lords with such awe. This wasn’t an estate. It was a city. A city that rose up from the grasslands like a gleaming ivory mountain, tiers of white marble cascading up until they culminated in Ahzeen Mikov’s palace.
It was beautiful, yes, but in the ugliest of ways. I looked at all of that finery and I wondered how many tattered backs it took to build it, and how many sparks it would take it bring it back to the earth.
And I lingered particularly long on that last part, especially when I saw the way that Tisaanah’s demeanor had shifted, ever-slightly, the moment we Stratagrammed
into this city. Back at the camp, I was relieved to see her light up again with that particular relentlessness once she figured out her plan — that woman did, after all, love a plan. But that force dulled a little as soon as we stepped foot here, even though she tried not to show it. She still held herself like a queen, but she was afraid, and I hated that this place could do that to her.
Especially as we met slave after slave in the shadows — friends of Tisaanah that had agreed to help us with our little project, a risk to them that was not lost in any of us for a second — and I was reminded over and over again the past that she was confronting.
Now, we stood in the shade of the gates surrounding Ahzeen Mikov’s home, nestled into a tiny nook of privacy between buildings as activity buzzed just feet away. The party had already begun. Two guards stood with us. One shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking anxious. The other, the one trying to take my weapon from me, regarded us with fascinated interest that made me feel a bit like a caged curiosity.
“We can’t exactly walk into a party armed to the teeth,” Nura said, unstrapping the daggers from her hips. Easy for her to say. She probably had seven hidden blades shoved into her underwear alone.
“I don’t see why not,” I grumbled.
I did, in fact, see why not. I was just being difficult.
I sighed and handed my staff to the guard’s waiting hand, eyeing it as he placed it against the wall.
To be fair, the Syrizen looked even more uncomfortable with the prospect than I did. Ariadnea and Eslyn clung to their spears until the last possible moment, relinquishing them with a reluctance of a parent turning over their firstborn child.
“We will get them back when we need them,” Tisaanah reassured us.
My gaze flicked to her, and I managed to be startled, yet again, by the way that she looked. She wore a red silk dress that wrapped and tied around her waist, shimmering fabric closing billowed sleeves around her wrists and the skirt falling into a loose pool around her ankles. Simple, but distractingly striking, especially since the fabric was so light and delicate that it settled into every peak and valley of her body. And the whole damn thing was held to her only by that one knot at her waist.
Despite the circumstances, I still couldn’t help but imagine tugging on one end of that bow and watching all of that fabric slide over her skin and settle onto the floor.
Apparently, it had been hers when she lived here. A maid friend of hers had left it for us, among other supplies, in a hidden package beyond the gates. “It was actually a nightgown,” she told me, sounding somewhat embarrassed, when she first put it on and twirled. “Can you tell?”
Yes. But in the best of ways.
But later, I caught her rubbing the silk between her fingers, brows furrowed, lost in thought. And I realized all at once who gave her that nightgown, and under what circumstances she had probably worn it, and I wanted to tear it off her for a very different reason.
Tisaanah thanked the guards in Thereni, exchanging some words that I didn’t understand but sounded encouraging. The nervous one kept glancing to the throngs of people in the street in a way that unsettled me.
She turned back to us, letting the guards depart first. “We are ready,” she declared.
I watched our weapons disappear with the guards as they rounded a corner. “You’re certain we can trust them?”
“Yes.” She followed my gaze, a little smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry. Pieces of metal are not our most dangerous weapons.”
True. The one that lurked in Tisaanah’s mind scared me more than any of the people we were about to face.
When an appropriate amount of time had passed, we went to the street and approached the estate gates. As planned, we were quite late for the event, so the entrance had begun to empty, only a few straggling guests lingering outside.
The gates parted like giant, golden jaws.
I stayed beside Tisaanah. I didn’t need to look at her to feel the way she stiffened as we passed beneath the shadow of the marble archway. I caught her hand briefly in mine and squeezed before letting our palms slide apart.
We would walk in together and we would walk out together, I swore. And in between, we would do what we came here to do. It just had to be that simple.
I rubbed my fingers together, reassuring myself with the warmth of flames that licked my skin.
Right. The metal was not my only weapon. And if it came down to it, maybe it would be nice to rip these bastards apart with my bare hands. All the better to go a little slower.
