the bellringer
Cade, on the other hand, wasn’t like the rest of us. He had no interest in responsibility and ran off to Solamere as soon as he was of age. It didn’t matter how many times I told him how much I envied him or how many times my father—increasingly paranoid—stressed the importance of his position.
Esteria looked back through the train window as Vataracta grew smaller and smaller.
A mountain-sized waterfall split the city in two, each ward connected by a stone viaduct that spanned the crest of the falls. In the center of the viaduct stood the palace. Soaring spires and sharp turrets sat impossibly perched on the razor’s edge, a fistful of knives thrust into the sky, standing against the current out of spite.
It was the only home she’d ever known.
She turned back to their small passenger car. Paneled in warm wood, it was quite decadent all things considered. Did all of the train cars look that way? She felt a tad underdressed in her travel clothes. Few knew her by face, so forgoing a bit of ostentation, she could pass as a merchant or a minor noblewoman, not that remaining undercover was necessarily the goal. Dacre’s shadow prevented true anonymity.
Her surly protector had thus far remained silent. Sitting across from her, his large shadow darkened his side of the compartment. His eyebrows had twitched upward when he’d first seen Seren— now curled contentedly in Esteria’s lap, swatting at the pendant dangling idly from Esteria’s fingertips—but he’d offered no objections.
Esteria had never been this close to him before, save for when her life was in danger. While there was a harshness to his features, up close, most of it came from the slant of his eyebrows and his perpetual displeasure. His eyes were actually quite a pretty shade of blue—dark like the ocean with a clarity that made them striking, particularly in contrast to his hair—and his lips had a rather appealing curve to them. She thought maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t scowl so much, he could be handsome in spite of his general unpleasantness. Had anyone ever told him that?
Remembering his reputation with women, several someones presumably had.
Her eyes flickered to his hands. Resting at his sides, they were large, with long digits and a heavy signet on his ring finger. It was difficult to make out, but the outline of a bird was etched into the metal. Not many people wore house rings anymore; there were only a few of the old families left. Despite adopting the tradition themselves, Esteria and her father were notably not among them, and she’d never met any other Nightingales at court. Was Dacre the last of his line?
His eyes flashed to hers, and she hurriedly shifted her attention to the window. The ride was awkward enough without him catching her staring.
The sun was setting when they reached Drossing. She watched with interest as the train slowed before a gathering of buildings lined up like set pieces. Dacre gestured for her to stay where she was as he went to speak with the conductor, and when he returned, she asked, “Is our coach ready?”
“No.” He hauled her up by the arm.
“Hey,” she protested, clinging to Seren who yowled at the sudden movement. She yanked her arm back. “I can walk, thank you.”
With a glare, he reclaimed her elbow, though his grip was less firm. “Stay close.” He swept them from the train and into the fading light of the platform.
Dacre exchanged a note of some kind with a man wearing a flat cap who ran off in the direction of the train. As Dacre pulled her into the street, Esteria asked, “Where are we going? Who was that?”
“Oren, our driver.” He didn’t answer the first question.
Esteria struggled with Seren, who squirmed in her arms. “And why are we walking away from him?”
“He’s getting our things. We’re staying the night.”
She narrowly avoided a pile of horse dung that Dacre didn’t deem important enough to guide her around. “Any particular reason why?”
“You fancy falling off a cliff? We’ll lose the light within the hour.”
She scowled as they reached a moderately sized inn of red-yellow brick. Light and music spilled out from the common room windows into the rapidly darkening street. There was a stable directly next to it, and the swinging signpost that hung over the doorway read The Gray Goat.
Dacre pulled her and Seren inside and growled, “Stay here,” before disappearing into the street again.
Discomfited to say the least, she glanced around the common room. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and men and women occupied the thick-legged tables with either playing cards or bowls of stew in front of them. A graying gentleman played fiddle in the corner.
Quite the juxtaposition from the misery of a man who stalked outside.
Holding Seren tightly to her chest, she peered through the window as Dacre surveyed the area, his cloak flaring behind him like a second set of wings. His shadow swelled, growing larger and larger until it shattered into thousands of winged ravens, peeling from the ground and popping into existence. They sped past him to circle the building, sweeping through the stables before disappearing from view along with their maker.
In her arms, Seren’s protests reached a fever pitch, and Esteria caught a stray claw on her forearm. She yelped and dropped the large cat. Seren hit the ground and raced for the entrance.
“Bad Seren!” Esteria scrambled to follow. Seren pawed open the door and made it outside before Esteria snatched her back up. The street had darkened to a point where she had to squint to see past the inn’s lamplight, and Dacre stood at the very edge of it, turned away from her.
He wasn’t alone.
Ducking back inside to remain out of sight, Esteria watched through the crack in the door as Dacre met a cloaked figure. He pulled a folded letter from somewhere on his person, and nimble hands plucked it from his fingertips, pocketing it as they exchanged words.
While Esteria was still puzzling over the interaction, the stranger turned, walking toward her. Esteria fled from the door and returned to her spot by the window. When the stranger stepped inside, they drew back their hood, and Esteria blinked. It was a woman, short and remarkably striking with blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face. She said something to the innkeeper before proceeding upstairs.
Who was that? And what had Dacre given her? Was that letter why they’d stopped here on the way to Direbreak? Outside, Dacre’s shadow ravens returned to gather like crows on a roost along his arms and shoulders. When she blinked, the birds were gone and his winged shadow had reappeared on the ground.
Before she could hide, he strode back into the inn and grabbed her by the arm again, pushing her toward the staircase. She let him, still muddling over the mystery woman. No one batted an eye over her rough treatment. Perhaps they all had the good sense not to cross Dacre, whose large shadow silenced every table they passed.
He released her only when they reached the room. “Go to bed. We leave come sunrise.” And he slammed the door.
With a huff, she looked around her room—her confines. So, no supper then.
Her stomach growled in protest.
Depositing Seren upon the bed, she plopped into an armchair to stew. Dacre clearly expected her to stay put, but she hadn’t been told to heed his every order. In fact, he was the one who was supposed to be minding her.
There was no reason why she couldn’t go down to the common room for supper. Perhaps that woman would be there—unless of course she’d already retired to Dacre’s rooms.
All the more reason not to stay cooped up if her captor was otherwise occupied.
She crossed the room and opened the door, immediately coming upon the veritable wall of Dacre’s back. He whirled on her. “What part of go to bed did you not understand?”
Recovering from her stumble, she sized him up. “I could say the same for you.”
“Do I need to lock you in there?”
Every inch of him screamed danger, but she pretended not to notice, crossing her arms. “I’m hungry.”
“I’ll have something brought up.”
So much for that plan. “Are you really going to stand guard by my door all night like some faithful dog?” He only raised a brow, and she threw up her hands in exasperation. “This is ridiculous. If you’re to be fetching things for me now, perhaps I should obtain a little bell for when I need you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Call me steward or dog or whatever you like, princess, but if you try to summon me with a bell, I’m dumping you in the river.”
She stifled the internal scream of anger, knowing the battle was lost. “Well then, it’s a good thing I know how to swim.” She slammed the door in his face.
A little while later, there was a knock followed by the clink of a metal plate being deposited onto the floor, but Esteria ignored it. She’d rather starve.
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