“Fight me,” Cass said as they crept through the woods. He grasped Elia by the arm, his grip as strong as an iron vise.
She cast him a strange look. “What?”
“Fight,” he repeated, lower, then gave her a shake. It took her off guard, but he’d already indicated he had some sort of plan—one she wouldn’t be privy to.
Elia dug her heels into the snow, seeing how hard she could resist before he pulled her off her feet. It wasn’t long, and he didn’t steady her when she stumbled.
That hadn’t been convincing enough. She threw back the hood of her cloak and shook out her hair, so its warm reddish curls tumbled around her shoulders and in front of her face. She planted her free hand against his arm and pushed, straining until his hand around her bicep hurt.
He gave no encouragement, no suggestions on how to do things better, and when she paused and drew a breath to ask how hard she should try, he shot her such a nasty snarl that her stomach dropped to her feet.
Gone was the stoic but gentle man who’d kissed her with such fervor only minutes before. In his place was someone so convincingly cold and angry that a stroke of genuine fear lashed at her heart.
“Cass,” she gasped, planting her feet and straining against him.
He hauled her around before him, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Keep moving,” he snapped.
She braced her hands against his chest to hold him at bay. “I’m going,” she protested.
“Are you? Your feet aren’t.” He seized her by the collar of her coat and jerked hard enough to throw her off balance.
Snow flew into the air as one of her feet left the ground and the collar twisted tight, threatening to choke her. She gasped and tears brimmed against her eyelashes.
“Crying won’t help you.”
As if she’d meant to cry. A hiccup stole her breath before she could protest, and she used the opportunity to suck in a lungful of air and remind herself he’d asked her to do this. It was part of his game, some sort of deception. A trick to get them into where they needed to be, nothing more. Still, couldn’t he have been more gentle?
Elia twisted her shoulders and pried at his hands until he released her coat, though he snagged her by the wrist the moment his grip came loose. His new hold was so unrelentingly powerful that she tempered her resistance, pulling back just enough that he had to tug in order to make her stumble along. It hurt less, and his forcefulness eased, though his expression remained so dour that she dared not speak.
The moment they crested a swell, she was glad she hadn’t. The woods fell away in a steep ravine, difficult to see with snow banked high against a fence at its top. Below, a cabin nestled beside a running creek. No smoke rose from its chimney, but a man in a heavy coat paced around outside the front door, standing watch.
Cass shoved her forward. “Down.”
Her feet slipped at the edge of the ravine, where the melting snow had turned the ground underneath to slick mud. Both of her hands latched onto his coat.
“Move,” he barked.
The man below spat an oath that was just loud enough to hear and ducked into the cabin.
Elia set her jaw, but shuffled down the slope. More than once, her feet slid out from under her. Cass moved behind her, never once struggling to remain steady during their descent.
By the time they reached the ground, the lookout had returned to his post. He watched them with a wary eye, but did nothing but shuffle in place beside the door. Cass glowered at him as he dragged Elia past. The door was unlocked, and though the other side of it was dim, the glow of candlelight promised warmth.
Not that she needed any additional warmth. With the wooden ring on her finger, the exertion of struggling left her so heated that sweat trickled down her back and made her curls cling to her damp temples.
“Well, well,” a gruff voice rose from somewhere in the cabin’s front room. Elia turned toward it, though the transition from sun-bright snow to soft candlelight left her blinded. Had the man not chuckled, she might not have been sure where he was. “Didn’t think we’d see you again.”
Cass snorted. “Was changing camp locations your idea, or Banne’s?”
“Does it matter?” the man asked. “You found us anyway.”
“No thanks to that cursed archer you sent after me,” Cass said.
The shadowy shapes in the room began to resolve into images, and Elia made out the outline of a man settled in a chair by the hearth, where a number of candles burned in place of a proper fire. There were others gathered, too. A handful of silhouettes hunched over a table, where the rest of the candles sat. A man directly across the table was most visible, his angry features made harder by the strange, flickering shadows.
The man by the hearth nodded her way. “Who’s this little treat?”
“Who do you think?” Cass snapped.
Another low chuckle answered. The man raised a glass to his lips, its contents dark. In the stillness, Elia heard him swallow. There was no table nearby. When he finished, he lowered his glass to his thigh and held it in place. “Word was you took her and ran off. I can see why. Banne said you weren’t coming back.”
Though she desperately wanted to know who these people were, Elia remained silent. She was more useful if she listened, and more convincing if she stood frozen, pretending to be scared.
Pretending. The word felt like a joke. Cass still held her in a grip tight enough to be unkind, and now she was in the lair of whatever villains had taken her friend. What need was there to pretend?
“I stuck to the plan better than Banne did,” Cass said. “The goal was to get into the palace, wasn’t it?”
“Hmm.” The man took another drink, then leaned forward. He was old, his face scarred, and Elia couldn’t place him. He didn’t look Nylmerian, but his features were too sharp to be Kentorian.
Cass didn’t give him time for more banter. “Where’s the brat?”
She stiffened. “Peretor?”
He gave her such a sharp, sudden shake that it made her dizzy. “Shut it,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Again, the man chuckled. “Down in the cellar.”
“And Banne?” Cass asked, an edge in his voice.
“Your guess is good as any.”
He grunted, then twisted Elia’s arm to steer her in a new direction. She gasped at the pain that shot up to her shoulder and turned to try to relieve it, but that only resulted in her being forced to stagger sideways. She stumbled over a ridge in the floor and recognized it as a hatch to the cellar a moment later. Cass steered her past it, then bent to catch its ring in his free hand and drag it open.
Below, there was nothing but darkness.
“Get me a lantern,” Cass ordered.
One of the shadows beside the table leaped to its feet, melting into a more distinct human shape as it approached. The man—younger and Kentorian—carried a lantern with both hands.
“Light it,” Cass said.
The man borrowed one of the candles on the hearth to do as he was told. The lantern light was brighter and steadier, and Cass motioned for the man to descend into the cellar first. He clambered down the ladder without a word, and Cass shoved her forward. She shot him a glare as she turned to climb down, letting him know she didn’t appreciate how rough his end of the charade had become. He stared back, impassive as stone.
Time for complaint later, she reminded herself as she clambered down to the stone floor. Any other time of year, the cellar would have been chilly. Now, in the dead of winter, it was comfortably insulated. Oddly, the effect of her ring seemed lessened here, the air more comfortable against her skin. That put questions in her mind, but now was not the time to voice them. Later, when the danger of their situation didn’t have her pulse pounding in her ears, she’d ask him how the ring’s magic worked.
“Elia!” a familiar voice gasped as she reached the bottom.
Peretor.
Her heart leaped with relief, but she tempered her response. She shouldn’t be happy; she’d just been captured and taken prisoner, as far as anyone in that cabin knew. The look she cast him was worried, instead.
Peretor climbed to his feet in his crude prison cell and rushed to the wooden bars. “Thank the Light you’re unhurt.”
“Quiet,” Cass snapped. Silence fell thick in the cellar as the man with the lantern retrieved a ring of keys from the wall beside the ladder. While he fumbled with the keys, Cass turned to Elia and shoved the straps of her bags from her shoulders, then unfastened her cloak. She tried to step back, but he caught her shoulder and held her fast as his free hand went to the buttons of her coat. His eyes flicked to the fine mist of sweat that had formed on her brow.
Ah. Making sure she was comfortable.
“Take her bags and coat upstairs,” he said as he unbuttoned her coat and stripped it off her shoulders.
“Sir?” the man with the lantern asked.
Cass shot him a glare. “Did I stutter? Leave the keys. I’ll lock her up myself.”
The man hesitated, but gave a single nod and left the lantern and ring of keys on a crate that sat against the wall opposite Peretor’s cell. He gathered Elia’s bags, cloak, and coat into his arms and stumbled his way up the ladder, looking back several times.
Cass forced Elia’s arms up and nudged her feet apart with his toes, then ran his hands up her arms. Checking for hidden weapons or tools, she assumed, though he already knew she carried neither. All a show, she told herself, fixing the words firmly in mind as his hands explored down her back and her sides, over the swell of her hips and back up her front. His touch neatly avoided her chest, but then he knelt and hiked up the hem of her skirt. Her gasp escaped as a small squeak.
“Don’t touch her!” Peretor shouted, lunging against the bars with an arm outstretched. He wasn’t close enough to reach them.
Heat flooded Elia’s face as Cass slid his hands up her legs and around her thighs. That was completely unnecessary. “How dare you?” Anger brimmed in her whisper, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he’d locked eyes with Peretor as his fingers skimmed over the undergarments that warmed her legs.
Peretor glared back, his breath hard and his jaw clenched so tight that a muscle twitched in his cheek.
Slowly, Cass stood, letting her skirt fall around her ankles. “Be glad I decided not to search with my eyes.” He paused, and the glance he gave her was nothing shy of predatory. “That part comes later.”
Her cheeks burned with indignation and she clenched her hands so that her nails dug into her palms, lest she plant one of those palms right across his face.
Cass took the keys from the crate and turned to the cell door. She sucked in a breath and made herself exhale long and slow as he unfastened the lock. All she had to do was play along. She could voice her grievances later, after all this was over and they’d gotten Peretor somewhere safe.
The lock popped open and Cass caught her arm, shoving her roughly into the cell. Peretor caught her and kept her from stumbling, and the door slammed shut. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Cass said. “I’ll be back.”
To her ears, it was a promise, but Peretor bared his teeth at the perceived threat. Elia gripped her friend’s arms to keep him still as Cass locked the cell behind them and returned to the ladder. He left the lantern, and the cellar’s hatch slammed shut.
“Light scorch him,” Peretor muttered. “My uncle never should have trusted…” He didn’t finish, instead letting out a sigh and allowing his shoulders to slump.
Elia patted his shoulders and then stepped back to inspect him. “Don’t worry about him. Oh, I can’t believe I’ve found you. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, but you?” Worry filled his hazel eyes.
“I’m all right. I just don’t know how long we have.” She dared a glance toward the ladder. Voices murmured upstairs, too indistinct to make out who spoke or what was said.
His brows drew down. “How long we—Elia, what do you mean?”
“I came to get you out of here. King’s orders.” She planted her hands on her hips and turned a full circle, inspecting the cell. There was nothing around them but plain stone walls and a pot in the corner, which she assumed she wouldn’t want to investigate. A handful of crates and barrels sat stacked along the opposite wall, but they were too far away to reach. The keys were gone—still with Cass, she assumed.
“King’s orders?” Peretor repeated, surprised. “By the Light, Elia, you just got caught too! Now we’re both stuck. Light, how I prayed you’d make it out of here. When I saw you in the woods, I…” He didn’t finish, just shook his head.
She wished she had enough time to explain from the beginning, but who knew how long it would be before Cass returned? She had to be ready to run at a moment’s notice. A bead of sweat tickled her forehead and she swept it away with the back of her hand.
Peretor saw, his face softening with disappointment. “You must’ve fought hard.”
“Not nearly so hard as you think,” she said. “Listen, I need you to tell me everything you can before he comes back to get us. Who brought you here? Do you know this group? Why did they kidnap you?”
“Us?” he asked, neatly ignoring all her questions.
“Peretor!” she cried.
“All right, all right!” He made a soothing motion with both hands, then ran his fingers through his mess of brown hair. “I’m—By the Light, Elia, you walked right into their plans. How do I even…?”
“Who brought you here?” she repeated, hoping it would put him back on track.
He heaved a sigh. “They’re—I don’t know, riffraff. Some band of undesirables from all over. Mostly Nylmerian and Kentorian, a few from elsewhere. I don’t know who’s bought them, but the leaders are Nylmerian and Angrothi.”
Angrothi? That was a surprise. As a country, Angroth kept itself isolated, rarely dealing with any countries but Vahar, the only neighboring territory that wasn’t held at bay by mountains. “You said someone bought them? They’re mercenaries?”
“Near as I can figure.” Peretor looked toward the ladder twice. Worried someone would overhear? She couldn’t imagine he’d get in trouble for talking to her, or else no one would have allowed Cass to lock her up in the same cell.
She tried to keep him talking. “I heard a name upstairs. Banne? Is that one of the leaders?”
Peretor nodded. “She’s one, but she’s not here much, thank the Light.” He shuddered at some bad memory and she decided not to pry.
“Who’s the other?”
He blinked. “Well, you already met him.”
“Cass?” she squeaked. The news made her head reel. He’d said he was trying to join, trying to gain entry to their group. That didn’t sound like he needed entry.
“Most of the bruisers call him Badger,” Peretor said.
Elia couldn’t help but snort. On account of how cranky he could be, she was sure.
“I thought for sure he’d bring you here,” he went on. “My uncle never should have hired him. I knew he was up to something. He was too cold. Suspicious. When I saw him dragging you off, I thought for sure they’d got you. Then you didn’t show up, and neither did he, and I thought you got away.”
“I got away at first. I’ll explain later. Why did they take you, though? Was it something your uncle did?” She couldn’t fathom Peretor had done anything. He was a responsible young man, even if Cass hadn’t thought so. Cass. She bit her tongue and stored away a few choice words for him, but made herself stay calm. They’d discuss everything he’d told her later, after they escaped.
If they escaped. She cast a worried frown toward the ladder. How long would he be?
“Me?” Peretor asked, his face crumpling with dismay. “Elia, they only took me because they were after you.”
