Page 28 of Blood on the Tide

She urges me into a chair in the corner with my back to the wall and strides away to find the innkeeper. Within a few minutes, she sets a steaming bowl of stew and a small loaf of dark bread in front of me. She glares. “Eat.”

She’s gone again before I can dredge up a response, whisking away quickly enough that if I didn’t know better, I would assume she’s waited tables at some point. But that’s impossible. She may have only given scant details about her family and upbringing, but every move she makes speaks of money and possibly even nobility. This woman was born into power and privilege; she wears it on her skin as her birthright. There may have been a cost for that privilege in the form of her monster of a mother, but performing manual labor? It’s an absurd thought.

I take a bite of the stew, and am delighted to find that it’s better than I expected. The spices are familiar to me, similar to what we have in Viedna, and the hearty root vegetables warm my stomach better than a raging fire.

I’m so focused on my meal that when someone sits down across from me, I just assume it’s Lizzie. “Are you sure you don’t want to try some of this?”

“My darling Maeve, always so willing to offer up that which you can’t afford to lose.”

My spoon drops from nerveless fingers. I know that voice. It used to fill my dreams with the possibility of a happy future and then became a specter that haunts my nightmares. I knew I’d have to face him again, but it’s too soon, too unexpected. Surely I’m imagining his charming voice, too close.

Except when I finally gather the courage to lift my head, it is him.

Bronagh looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him. So much has changed that it seems wrong that he hasn’t as well. He’s built like so many sailors, lean with a sinewy strength that I used to admire. His dark hair reaches his shoulders in a careless wave, and his skin is darkened by the countless hours in the sun. He looks good, and I hate him for it.

“Have you come looking for me, then?” He leans his elbows on the table and reaches over to snag my loaf of bread. I watch numbly as he takes a bite of it and then hums under his breath. “They always have good shit here.”

“What are you doing here?” I had imagined dozens of different ways the reunion would go when I finally found him again. How I would be powerful and strong and vengeful as I took back the thing that he stole from me and made myself whole again. How I would be cold and composed and completely unaffected.

Instead, I’m sitting here trying not to cry. Seeing him has all of the betrayal and fear and pain washing over me in waves that threaten to drown me.

“I always spend a week at home in between doing my trading rounds. You know that.” He chews and swallows before he answers me. “But the better question is what you’re doing here. We saw you row in with that sad excuse for a boat. Really, Maeve, it’s pathetic.”

Knowing that he witnessed that humiliating entrance makes my face burn. At least I’ve had a chance to bathe before talking to him. Having this conversation in crusty clothes and reeking would have been so much worse. “You know why I’m here.”

“I guess I do.” He tosses the remainder of my loaf back onto my plate and sits back with a groan. “Khollu isn’t safe for someone like you, Maeve. Run along home. It’s where you belong.”

I cannot believe his words. How dare he tell me to run home, as if I have any home to run back to. My mother and grandmother will mourn the loss of my pelt as much as I do, and I would spare them that if I could. More, I would spare myself the shame of admitting how careless I’ve been. That I let someone as selfish and horrible as Bronagh close to me, ignoring the indications that he might not be what he seemed. That he might not care about me the way that I desperately wanted him to.

“Give me my skin back.”

He smiles as if I’m a child throwing a temper tantrum. “I can’t do that, my girl. I worked so hard to get it.” He must see the confusion on my face, because he laughs harshly. “Or did you think I really wanted you? Silly woman. You were a mark, plain and simple. And you made it oh so easy for me.” He pushes back from the table and rises slowly, his shadow falling over me and washing away the heat of my meal. “You’re a good girl, and that’s why I will give you this single warning. Go home, Maeve. There’s nothing here for you, and if you continue on with this nonsense about getting your pelt back, you won’t like what happens.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I never get a chance. He shudders and hits his knees, blood erupting from his mouth. Panic alights his pale eyes. Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods. What’s going on? As if in answer, the air sizzles intensely enough to make my hair stand on end for a heartbeat before he blinks out of existence.

He teleported away.

I shoot to my feet, which is when I see Lizzie standing in the doorway, two mugs of beer in her hand. Her eyes glow crimson and her upper lip curls in a snarl, revealing sharp teeth. In an instant, she’s at my side, though she didn’t appear to rush. She sets the mugs on the table. “So that’s Bronagh.”

“That’s Bronagh.” I’m shaking and I can’t seem to stop. I plant my hands on the table, but it does nothing to center me. I look up, staring into her crimson eyes. “Was that you?”

“Yes.” She glares at the space where he stood before he teleported. “You should have told me he’s able to teleport. I would’ve gone about things differently.”

I want to kiss her and shake some sense into her at the same time. “You can’t kill him, Lizzie! We have to find my skin first.”

“Wrong. I’ll kill him and then we’ll find your skin.” She holds out her hand. “Let’s go.”

chapter 14

Lizzie

Though I want nothing more than to chase down the bastard who put that look on Maeve’s face and rip his heart from his chest with my bare hands, the innkeeper isn’t particularly happy with the outbreak of violence in his establishment.

“I can’t have you attacking the locals. The only reason the re—Nox’s goals work is because they’re done in secret. What you did to Bronagh was not secret.”

I open my mouth, ready to tell Ralph that he’ll share Bronagh’s fate if he keeps up with that bullshit, but Maeve stirs enough to place her hand on my arm. She does it instinctively, the touch light with warning, and the intimacy of it stops me short.

Which gives her the opportunity to smooth things over. “What happened with Bronagh has nothing to do with Nox. It was personal. He stole something from me.”

---