Page 163 of The Duke and the Disciple

“They had an affair?” Drazhan’s frown was full of doubt.

“It was one night. She was hurt by his rejection, but no more was said. She seemed fine after a couple of days. Never mentioned it again.”

“Owen never said a word.”

“I don’t suppose he would have, seeing as he behaved like a scoundrel.”

“You mean like Rahn with our Aesylt?”

Imryll stifled a laugh. Drazhan didn’t mean it. He treated Rahn like a brother, but he would never stop fussing over Aesylt. “So what if they’re not betrothed? The Vjestik are known for courting before formalities are involved.”

“Butwhyis what I want to know. He has my blessing, Imryll. Does he not want to wed her? How could he not want that?”

“Does he seem like a man who would ever be parted from her?”

He stopped pacing and shot her a pointed look. “You see my confusion.”

“Draz, if she were unhappy, you’d know.” Imryll grimaced as she stood, wobbly, and headed toward the bed, waving away his concern. “You’ve never troubled yourself with the rules of propriety. Let them... be what they are. Oh, are you still telling her all of tonight’s details were my idea?”

Drazhan snorted.

“So that’s a yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“She knows the truth.” Imryll climbed into bed beside Aleksy, moving him only enough to make space for herself. “I’ll go see Tasmin first thing. She’s already unsettled from something that happened with Lord Quintus. If I know her, she’ll bury it all deep if she doesn’t speak of it now.”

“I think he’s asleep,” Drazhan said, tilting down for a careful look at Torian.

“He’s been asleep for some time.” Imryll’s eyes closed. “Set him in his cradle and then you can tell me all about Aesylt’s special night.”

Tasmin wasoblivious to the wind. To the cold. Duncarrow had been perpetually cold, though rarely icy. Never frozen. Though she’d been born on the cursed isle, she hadn’t been conditioned for the briny, chill winds, but she had inured herself to them, like all other injustices.

Foreignwas the word that stuck in her chest, and it was how she felt, standing without shivers as she stood upon the battlements and lost herself to the passionate swirl of springtide flurries melting through the fog.

“My lady, it’s not fit for you out here, the weather in such a state as it is,” one of the guards said, a pleasant older gentleman she liked and who had no business being out in said cold at his advanced age. “Should’ve been a nicer eve, but they say the next few days will be warm enough.”

“It suits me fine, Kilgore,” she lied, offering the precise smile she knew would work. It was her famous smile, and it had worked on so many, in a diversity of ways. That same smile had caught Owen Strong’s eyes from across the ballroom. Had invited him into her bed. And had given him the impression that he was not the first she’d lured with it, though he was. The first and only. An experienced woman wouldn’t have thought twice or looked back.

Why he wasin the Crosswas almost too dark a mystery for her, especially on the heels of her visit with Lord Quintus, which had begun with a plea for alliance and ended with a demand for marriage. The events paralleled Imryll’s visit to Whitechurch, almost three years earlier.

Imryll had abjectly refused the demand, then had fled, in the dead of night, in fear for her life.

“Can I at least fetch you another fur? A cover?”

“I won’t be out here long,” she said, extending her smile, which she’d refined to the point it nearly felt natural. Only her mother and Imryll recognized the difference between practiced joy and the genuine kind. “I saw your son tonight at the celebration for Aesylt. He’ll be married soon, I understand?”

“Oh.” Kilgore seemed to swell with pride in her recognizing such a thing. “Cassius is marrying up, and his mother and I are so pleased.”

“A Voronov, I hear?”

“That’s right. Baroness Brita’s adopted daughter, Tessa. The one she rescued from ahen vodah after the mother drowned?”

Tasmin didn’t know the story or the Vjestik word he’d used, but she nodded as if she did. It was better than stealing even a sliver of his delight with a question. “A sad tale with a joyful ending.”

“Indeed. Indeed, and now the steward has offered the keep for—” Kilgore swiftly spun away. “Ah, sir, this isn’t... I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Donnae ken if yer askin’ about my family name or my intent, but ye can call me Owen, and I’m here for a word with Lady Tasmin.”

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