Page 24 of Dare

A couple of hours before dawn, the knights urged us through a door, which led to a network of underground tunnels brimming with torches. The Fool Trade was ritualistic devilry, but it wasn’t a parade. For that reason, ships from visiting Seasons relocated to private docks tucked away from the wharf, to complete the exchange overnight and then set sail by daybreak. The tunnels would guide us to Winter’s transport and our forthcoming slaughter.

A flash of steel caught my attention. The same tower guard who sported Poet’s dagger idled on the fringes while chatting with another soldier. If my arms and limbs got free, it would be easy to creep past them and swipe the weapon.

I contemplated the ropes encircling my wrists and ankles. Yes, I knew these knots. They deceived the untrained eye. Such tethers had been perfected over generations by Summer’s troops, the seafaring trade, and sand drifters like Mama and Papa.

Like me.

Also, they’d restrained my ankles, wrists, and mouth. Not my fingers.

Wedging my digits into the bindings, l felt the hard outline of the whelk I’d swiped. The object was sharp, but not sharp enough to sunder thick cords. No, I had a better idea.

I’d been assigned to the same female knight, who trapped my bicep in her grip, who huffed and puffed, and who kept thrusting her gaze at everyone’s restraints. Likely, Winter’s culture detained people only with irons. But this court was known for its masterful ropes and impenetrable fastenings, and the ignorant troops must have counted on the lot of us being too presumably stupid, or too busy cackling or crying, or throwing fits or ranting, to unravel a kink that most Summer commoners could barely solve.

What they hadn’t counted on was the daughter of sand drifters. In addition to sailing, we knew how to weave intricate nets and tie complex knots. Just as we knew how to unravel them.

My fingers strained, fiddling around until they located the whelk. Its chipped edge gave the seashell a chiseled appearance, like a cutting tool. I jiggled the prop loose, pitched it at my escort’s feet, and widened my eyes. Feigning astonishment, I acted as though I’d dropped it by accident.

Releasing her hold on me, the female soldier plucked the evidence from the ground and regarded its nicked shape, ideal for shearing through rope. I ducked, pretending to submit as the wench vaulted her arm into the air, ready to strike me. Though at the last moment, she stayed the movement, her mouth compressing and her knuckles folding inward.

A frustrated scoff fled her mouth. After chucking the whelk and kicking it across the tunnel, she finally relaxed. Decoy achieved, the woman’s attention turned elsewhere, and her hands fell to her sides. She wouldn’t expect to catch me twice.

“Pest,” she muttered to herself. “Thought that would free you?”

No, I hadn’t. But then, Winter didn’t know as much as it claimed to.

Under the rope, my fingers caressed the knot.

10

Jeryn

Grabbing my vial pendant in a chokehold, I stalked into the apothecary. Suspended over one of the castle’s indoor pools, glass walls comprised this vacant part of the medical wing. I strode without pause to a hutch displaying various bottles, including samples of universal Willow Dime—the same herb that had poisoned Princess Briar due to her allergy—as well as Spring bundleberries, Summer ferns, Autumn wheat kernels, and Winter pine.

An upper shelf held newly mixed restoratives. Among them stood a cruet filled with a clear liquid, its contents indispensable.

I should know. I’d created it.

Although I had brought my own supply, I’d recently drained my vial after meeting with Rhys in that shark-infested throne room. Replacement doses were currently unobtainable, being hefted onto Winter’s ship with the rest of my belongings. I should hold off until returning aboard, yet the images of those sea creatures festered in my head. Them, and other haunting visions.

My gaze skewered past the translucent walls and into the corridors. Confirming the vicinity was deserted, I released my pendant, snatched the cruet, uncorked the top, and let a droplet fall onto my tongue. It sat there for a moment before sliding down. I swallowed and shut my eyes as the bitter taste of herbs dissolved on my palate. Instantly, the blood rushing through my veins slowed its pace, the clamminess abating as well.

One spare portion for the vial, in case I required it and couldn’t locate my coffers on the ship. Then I returned the vessel to its shelf.

Hanging above a table, a paper lantern flung light across the space. The sunburst painted on its surface matched the ones Summer inked onto its prisoners. Quite a misuse of the court’s reserves to brand fools on the ankles, wrists, and neck. An escapee could conceal those places beneath a pair of shoes, a set of gloves, a scarf.

Winter did not mark them that way. If that were the case, my kingdom would do so where it counted—between their brows. That way, pursuers would know where to look. Or if necessary, where to shoot.

Unsheathing the scalpel knife at my hip, I approached and traced the symbol with the blade’s tip. Such thin material. Such a delicate facade. Even so, the black painted symbol blazed across the lantern like a force to be reckoned with.

The fixture caused another image to solidify in my mind. Her hands chained overhead. The way her body had strained. The extension had displayed every dip and curve, from her slender fingers, pert nipples, and taut thighs to that bobbing, tattooed throat.

Her smutty chemise had left little to the imagination. The hem had barely concealed the shadowed vent between her thighs, which had parted and quivered under the ministrations of my knife. Damp heat had emanated from her slit, the flesh bare and the temperature of her pussy scorching my knuckles.

Each time she’d swallowed, the sunbursts had shuddered. Each time that had happened, my skin had tingled with urgency.

I recalled how my knife had skated across the fabric of her clothing like a line about to be crossed. When the material had trembled, a perverse temptation had crept down my fingers. Nick her. Toss the knife. Or run the deadly point to other sensitive places that would make her shiver. Each choice had been equally tempting.

Would those hands have grappled the chains? Or would she have devoured me whole?

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