Hunted by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #3)(31)

“Be that as it may,” Brun growled, shooting his fellow soldier a look that said he didn’t appreciate being introduced, “we can’t just take your word at face value. We’ll have to bring you three to the captain so he can decide what to do with you.”

I shrugged as well as I could with my hands in the air. “Fine by me. When do we get to meet him?”

Brun sent Willis to fetch two more soldiers, then left them to guard the entrance to the town along with the archers while he took us to the Captain. Our hands were tightly bound in front of us with thick rope, and we were herded up a wide street flanked with two-story brick-and-wood buildings, every third of which was a crumbling ruin. The better-preserved houses had been patched up by the Resistance, newer pieces of cedar wood standing out against the older siding, and bits of plaster and glue were smeared around the edges of windows that had been replaced. The windows were small and covered with a film of dust, and none of the buildings had signs out front, so there was no way of telling which, if any of them, housed the prisoners we sought.

The soldiers led us into a two-story cabin that looked like it had seen better days, the siding worn rough by sandstorms and who knew what else, and the porch railing leaning sideways. The floorboards creaked under our feet as we were led onto the porch, and we stood under an awning that looked ready to collapse on top of our heads as Brun knocked on the door.

“Captain Milios?” he called. “It’s Sergeant Brun.”

“Come in,” a deep, brusque voice answered.

Brun turned the wooden doorknob, and the door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. We followed after him into a small, rectangular room that had probably served as the house’s kitchen and living area, judging by the wood-burning stove in the left corner. The empty, rickety-looking shelves on the walls would have once housed pots and pans as well as cooking supplies.

On the opposite side of the room was a large, rough-hewn desk covered with piles of paper and a typewriter that looked like it was on its last legs. Behind the desk sat a sturdy-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a weather-beaten face, who I could only assume was Captain Milios. His thin lips and hard, dark eyes told me he was not the cheerful sort, and I doubted he would show us any mercy if he found out who we really were.

“Sergeant.” Milios narrowed his eyes. Like his soldiers, he was dressed in khakis, but he wore three blood-drop medals on his breast as opposed to the single one Sergeant Brun displayed. His medals were also gold rather than red, which I imagined went with his higher rank. He scowled at us before returning his attention to Brun. “Who are these people?”

“They claim to be new recruits, sent by Captain Rylan Baine,” Brun explained. He jerked a thumb in my direction. “This one here says she’s his niece.”

Captain Milios’s dark gaze snapped to mine. “Name?”

“Mika Baine.”

“And the others?”

“I’m Felix –” Fenris began.

“Was I speaking to you?” the Captain snapped. He didn’t even bother to look at Fenris, his hard glare fixed on me like an arrow from a well-trained archer.

“No –,”

“Then shut up.” He arched his brows at me. “What are their names?”

Fenris’s lips pressed together so hard I thought he would swallow them, and I had to force myself not to laugh at the look of outrage burning in his eyes. He very clearly wasn’t used to being a subordinate. “Felix Lamos and Anaris Maren.”

“I’ve met Baine once,” Milios said, his tone implying that he was not one of Rylan’s fans. “He didn’t mention a niece called Mika.”

I snorted. “I bet you didn’t mention any of your relatives to him either. Or do the members of the Resistance like to sit around and talk about their families?” I knew he was bluffing, trying to jab holes into my story, and I wasn’t going to let him.

Captain Milios’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t like your tone, shifter. And I sure as hell don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to take my word for it,” I said boldly. “Just ask Rylan. He’ll vouch.”

The Captain stared at us for a long moment, his dark eyes glittering. “I’ll send him a message to verify your story,” he said. “In the meantime, the three of you can do grunt work around here and earn your keep.” He turned toward Brun. “Sergeant, assign these three quarters and put them to work. I want eyes on them at all times. They are not to leave the camp under any circumstances, and they are not allowed near the prisoners.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Grunt work?” Fenris seethed as we followed the sergeant outside. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had to do something as menial as grunt work!”

“Welcome to the life of an apprentice,” I told him, and with great effort managed to keep a straight face as Brun unwittingly led us into our new lives as undercover operatives.



After having our belongings thoroughly searched, Sergeant Brun showed us to our quarters. West of the main street were two rows of houses, mostly too dilapidated for use, but ten or so that were useable had been converted into makeshift quarters. The sergeant knocked on a door, and we stood outside the false-fronted cabin for at least a minute before it was yanked open by an orange-eyed shifter. His skin was the color of heavily-creamed coffee, and his thick, dark hair and rounded nose indicated Sandian descent.