A Thief of Nightshade(62)

Aislinn didn’t say anything at first, giving her plenty of time to lament her choice to unbind his speech. When he did speak again, it was full of bitterness. “I didn’t ask you for anything, not your help or your friendship and least of all an apology. I wouldn’t care even if you were sorry for it.”

Her eyes welled with tears and though she hated herself for it, she’d never been very talented at hiding her emotions, not even as a child. Especially not as a child, which had earned her more than her fair share of whippings from the taskmaster at the workhouse where she’d spent most of her early childhood. She could still remember the look on Ian’s face, a young guard then with only aspirations to become a Griffin, when Oberon had brought her back to Agincourt.

She’d never known compassion before.

What she had known intimately were the wounds that Aislinn now bore. She understood fully the hesitance to trust others and the sting that lasted long after the betrayal had ended. But she wasn’t willing to let him tear her apart. She’d suffered far more hurtful words than his.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and focused on driving her mount faster down the hill and through the glen until finally they reached the gates at Agincourt.

She remained quiet through their dismount

and

though

they

were

immediately met with a host of guards and attendants, Given waived them all away and walked, with Aislinn silently in her wake, to the stables.

“This is stupid. You don’t need to be rubbing down a horse if your back is hurting.”

Given had willed Aislinn to lean against the outer wall of the stable, so she could barely see him from where she stood. She didn’t feel like his comment required a response and frankly couldn’t think of one anyway.

“You know, I don’t understand you,”

Aislinn said. “Did you take on her pain to garner our sympathies? Interesting tactic, though I bet you’re regretting it now.”

She ignored him as she finished preparing her horse for the night.

“Saralia’s daughter, posing as a whore in the city of Man,” he laughed.

“Had I known who you were I might have made you pretend a little harder. All for the sake of Avalar, of course.” He grinned before continuing to prattle on, though Given tuned out what he was saying. She was too interested in what she was seeing.

Given turned the corner and caught the faint shimmer of a fading spell. He’d probably regained his free will half an hour ago, when her spell had weakened, but was too busy running his mouth to notice. These were his last moments as a man. So, brazenly and completely out of character, she paused for only a second, until that final moment. Then she deftly

pressed herself against Aislinn, rising on her toes to meet his mouth, and kissed him.

His mouth felt warm and soft, and astonishingly receptive. She figured he would blame this on her enchantment.

She pulled away just as the spell faded completely, leaving Aislinn on all fours, struggling to catch his breath and gain his bearings. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Just so we’re clear.

You’ve had free will for a while.”

Aislinn was madder than hell. No, he was madder than that. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time since he was put into this cursed animal body that he’d been this unsettled. He looked up as Given sauntered away from him, a glib happiness in her stride.

Agincourt was a world away from everything else in Avalar. Humans never spoke of it and he’d heard the name on maybe one or two occasions total, which was the second reason he was so reluctant to trust anything about the place. It was something to behold. He’d give it that.

Hidden in the woods, it was nothing like the Winter Court. Everything about this place was natural, more so it seemed than even Galydon. Homes were built not of trees but in them. Music played gaily through the earthen streets as Fae and Shade alike wandered with little care. It was such a startling contrast to Rheavon, where everyone seemed to be hiding something.

Larger than he’d imagined, it stretched out vastly around them. As far as the eyes could see, full of winding passages of unobtrusive majesty. And in the center of it all stood an iridescent masterpiece of a castle. Rising taller than the tallest trees, it towered over Agincourt like a stone sentinel. As they walked toward it, Aislinn couldn’t help but to notice the vast number of smaller animals that had found solace among Agincourt’s citizens. Even the smallest creatures roamed freely about, butterflies and bumblebees and all manner of dragonflies.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. Lipsey!

“We’ve got to go back,” he groaned, torn between knowing how desperately important it was to get to Aubrey, yet not wanting to forsake the only friend he’d really had in ten years. “Lipsey—”

Given turned around and gave him the most achingly beautiful smile, tinged in just the scantest trace of sadness. “He’s here. I found him when I had to leave you in Koldavere.”

He sighed in relief and was about to say something else, albeit sarcastically, when he noticed the tears on Given’s face.

How had he missed them before?

Because you weren’t looking, you jerk.

They came to the foot of a tremendous staircase that was easily more than a hundred feet wide. Luckily, it was only half that high. Two slight female Fae bowed low before Given and gave a short nod to Aislinn. “Princess, we are yours to command. Do you or your guest need anything?”