Page 7 of The Rook

FOUR

Tempest

Tempest woke as the bag was pulled from her head. Stars ran across her vision as the light from a hundred candles stunned her for a few moments. She winced and reached for the back of her head. Whatever devil had knocked her on the head would regret it. She scowled and blinked repeatedly until her eyes grew accustomed to the light.

“Always so difficult,” a painfully familiar voice said. The Jester chuckled, the deep sound caressing her skin, causing goosebumps to run down her arms. He stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, primping his clothes, of all things he could be doing.

Her lips curled in distaste. “I am not your underling to summon whenever you’d like,” Tempest muttered. “What do you want?”

He snorted. “Underlings are obedient, and you, my dear—”He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You are woefully disobedient.”

She ignored his comment and glanced around the room. If one could call it such a thing. It was a cave, although decorated more lavishly than even King Destin’s chambers. Her brows rose as she absorbed it all. Large, thick tapestries hung all around her. A plush, midnight-blue rug covered half of the stone floor beneath Tempest’s feet. In one corner, half-hidden by shadows, was an enormous four-poster bed, its heavy curtains currently pulled shut all around it.

Her eyes shied away from the monstrosity. No need for her attention to linger there.

Elaborately carved candelabras stood around the room, their candles standing like proud sentinels. Tiny glass votives sat on almost every available surface. The light flickered in soft blues, greens, and purples, among the oranges and yellows of the normal candles. Clearly, the place was expensively furnished. What kind of crimes paid for all of this?

She ran the toe of her boot over the rug, eyeing the rich color. Taseri wool. That was impossible to import. Her brows rose. How in the blazes had he gotten his hands on the rug? Tempest lifted her head and glanced in the mirror.

Pyre was studying her reflection, his signature smile playing on his lips, one pointed canine exposed. He adjusted the collar of his golden silk robe. “Like what you see?”

She glared at the vain creature, wishing he would burst into flames. She didn’t have time for this. Her head hurt, and, from the pounding of her temples, she was well on her way to a migraine. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want? Why go to suchtheatricsto get me here? I’m not at your beck and call, Pyre. I’m not a dog.”

“Aren’t you?”

His words set off her anger. Her fingers closed around the dagger at her waist, and before she consciously knew what she was doing, the blade was already out of her hand. Pyre jerked as the weapon slammed into his gaudy mirror, causing a large, ugly crack to travel through the glass and tear his reflection in two. Maybe he’d think twice the next time he knocked her out and left her with weapons.

She smirked when a cool, steel edge pressed against her throat. She’d known they were not alone—Tempest had managed to flush out the Jester’s protector. A hand seized her braid and yanked it before her new assailant gripped her right wrist painfully, pulling it behind her back. She grimaced but forced an ugly smile. One point for her, zero for the knave gaping at her from a broken mirror.

The Jester’s earlier shock had disappeared, replaced by a wry smile. He stepped to the side and leaned closer to the mirror, continuing to recheck his appearance like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Let her go, Brine,” he said casually. “Our Hound friend is no threat to me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Tempest murmured. She felt pretty murderous at the moment. He brought that out in her.

“Have it your way,” he retorted. “She’s not a threat—for now.”

For now.That gave her a bit of satisfaction. It was important that the Jester knew she could be a threat.

A snarl followed by a low whistle of breath heated the nape of Tempest’s neck. She shivered despite her resolve to show no weakness.

Brine cursed under his breath before straightening up. “She would have killed you if she hadn’t missed.”

At this, Tempest burst out laughing and twitched against Brine’s grip before she could stop herself. The nails on his hand began transforming into wickedly dangerous wolf claws in response.Winter’s bite, that was creepy.

He growled into her ear. “What’s so funny, dog?”

“Oh, nothing,” Tempest replied, sobering. “It’s just that—you honestly think I missed?” She caught Pyre’s eye. He wasn’t amused by her outburst so much as he was aware it was warranted. Tempest frowned. Why did she know that? She hated that she could read the tiny permutations of his expression.“Trust me,” she continued, “if I wanted the Jester dead, he would be.”

“And on that cheerful note, release her,” Pyre said, repeating his previous order. “And leave us. Like she’s said, if she really wanted to kill me, she’d have planted that dagger in my back.”

The blade lingered at her throat for a few seconds longer and then disappeared. Brine squeezed Tempest’s wrist until she was moments away from gasping in agony.

“Mind your manners, mutt,” he whispered in her ear before releasing her in one swift motion.

That was rich,himcallingherthe mutt. Tempest swallowed the retort forming on her tongue and instead focused on rubbing the feeling back into her twisted wrist.The bloody brute. Her wrist would surely bruise by morning.

Show no weakness.

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