Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(115)

Jenna studied her critically. “No, not really. He was a red-haired healer, a lone wolf with wounded eyes. He wore a snake pendant—”

Gray came up on her knees and gripped Jenna’s shoulders, her face a battleground between heartbreak and hope. “A healer? A red-haired healer?” she all but shouted, so that Cas raised his head in alarm. “What was his name?”

Gray was asking questions again, but Jenna didn’t care.

“He had many names,” Jenna said. “He called himself Adam Freeman. I called him Adam Wolf. Neither was his real name. He had strong, gentle hands, and he talked to horses.” She forced her mind back to the images that had poured in when they joined hands. “He saw his father die in a snowy street, his blood spattering the cobblestones.”

“Ash!” It was more a primitive cry than a word. “You saw him in Ardenscourt? When?”

Jenna’s heart leapt. This fierce wolf warrior knew the healer, under yet another name. She’d be able to tell her where he came from and where he was now. She could fly to him, and they could—but no. Her excitement abated a little as she realized that couldn’t happen anytime soon. Cas would have to be completely recovered before they launched an attack on the empress or tried to batter their way through the stormwall again.

“When did you see him?” Gray repeated, louder than before.

“First, you tell me. What is the healer’s real name, and what is the connection between you?”

For a long moment, they sat, knee to knee, and all but nose to nose, staring at each other, each holding on to her secrets and trying to decide whether to trust the other.

“His real name is Adrian,” Gray said finally. “And he was—or is—my brother.”





46


PARTY OF THE YEAR


Destin Karn leaned against the wall, nursing his drink, watching and waiting. The Matelons were working the room, chatting with each of the guests at one time or another. They exceeded Destin’s rather low expectations, though he guessed that nobody survived at the Ardenine court for long without learning some knack for connivery. The captain and the corporal flirted gamely and danced awkwardly, which fit in with the role they were playing. They really needed to work on their blackbird swagger.

Even Destin danced a little, choosing his targets carefully. For instance, he cut in when Granger seemed determined to monopolize the young Lady Harper all night long. He was afraid that if he didn’t intervene, one of the Matelon brothers would. Or the lady herself would punch Granger out.

After two circuits around the dance floor, she spoke. “You’re a good dancer,” she said, cheeks flaming. “That loathsome Bailiff Granger needs to learn some better manners.”

“That’s why I cut in, Lady Matelon,” Destin said. “I was tired of watching you fend him off. What did you two talk about?”

“Mostly he talked about himself, about his horses and hounds, and how he wants to tear down Whitehall and build a bigger house, and how a marriage between us made a lot of sense.”

“Did he mention that he’s already engaged?”

She scowled. “That didn’t come up.”

“What did you say?”

“Very little.”

“Good thinking,” Destin said. “The other piece of advice I have for you is to keep lots of people around the two of you at all times. If anything happens that you don’t like, scream bloody murder. Oh, and under no circumstances should you let him fetch you a drink, not even a cup of cider. And, here—” Destin slid a dagger from one of his many hidden sheaths and handed it across. “Hide this well. Don’t use it unless you have no choice. If you have no choice, the best entry point is here.” He demonstrated the proper placement by tapping just above his own collarbone. “Aim the blade downward and keep pushing until it won’t go any farther.”

She stared down at the dagger, then up at Destin. “You’re saying I should kill him?” Clearly she thought it must be some kind of a trick or trap.

“If you have to.”

“I can’t take this,” she protested, running her fingers over the fancywork. “It looks like some kind of heirloom.”

“Oh, it is,” Destin said, closing her hands around the hilt. “I think it will find a good home with you.”

Harper looked around for witnesses, then slid the blade into her bodice, settling it between her breasts so that the hilt was hidden. Then gazed up at him, her head tilted, eyes narrowed.

“What is it?” he said.

“I appreciate your looking out for me, Lieutenant. What I don’t understand is why.”

Destin looked over her shoulder, to where his father was hugging the other wall. “When I was a little older than you, I failed to protect someone close to me, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I should have acted sooner and with more . . . precision.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

He half-smiled. “I’m a lot better at killing, these days.”

The song came to a close and he bowed to her. “It’s getting close to ten o’clock,” he said. “Keep your mask on, Lady Matelon.” He walked away, toward the punch bowl, feeling the pressure of her gaze on his back.

By twos and threes the others followed, some lost in conversation and seeming to wander closer by accident, others apparently there to quench a sudden thirst. Several young children raced to that end of the room, their mothers chasing after.