Page 151 of Ash and Feather

Dravyn tipped his mouth closer to my ear and mumbled, “I’d keep your bags packed just in case.”

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I think I was more convincing than you realize.”

He chuckled, the sound low and seductive as it slid across my neck.

“You doubt my negotiating skills?”

He considered for a moment before his lips—now close enough to brush my skin—eased into a smile. “No, I suppose not.”

“Such a passionate endorsement.”

Another huff of laughter. “How could I doubt such skills,” he said, taking my hand and twirling me around to face him, “when I am, after all, a victim of your persuasion myself?”

“Victimis an interesting choice of word there.”

He lifted my knuckles to his lips, planting kisses across them. “I’ve suffered greatly beneath your hands,” he insisted.

“There’s more suffering in store for you if you keep teasing me.”

His smile turned mischievous. “Let’s hope so.”

The curve of his lips nearly had me melting back into his embrace. But a new commotion from below drew my gaze, and this time I spotted a promising-looking rider trotting through the gates. Hope and dread curdled together in my stomach as I looked to Dravyn for confirmation.

“One of the king’s messengers,” he said with a nod, “judging by the livery he wears.”

I raced back inside.

Fallon was already waiting for us by the time we found our way through the maze of hallways and staircases and managed to reach the entrance the messenger had been heading for.

The king had been there long enough to open the letter the messenger carried in, and—I assumed—had already read it several times over. His face was impassive, however. He said nothing to me as he handed that letter over.

He muttered something to Dravyn before he walked away, but I was too absorbed by the sight of Savna’s handwriting to pay much attention to whatever he’d said.

The parchment shook in my hands as we made our way toward a small sitting room nearby. I perched on the edge of a creaking chair and scoured the letter like a starved woman hunting cabinets for scraps, for crumbs, for some morsel of any kind—anything that would help fill the aching pit in my stomach.

I couldn’t keep still as I read. I got to my feet. Sat down again. Stood again. Sank deeper into the velvety cushions, only to stand back up again almost immediately.

I kept reading the last line over and over again—it was the only one that seemed to stick in my mind long enough for me to understand it:

I’ll see you then.

My heart pounded in my throat.

Dravyn was watching me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “She’s agreed to meet you?” he guessed.

“Just after sunrise.” I fought to settle my shaking hands, scanning the letter one more time, still doubting its message even as I read it. “And she’s coming alone.”

“So she says.”

I ignored the pessimistic comment, though he was right to be wary. There was a chance she was lying. A chance she’d been forced to write this reply to help Andrel and the other rebels lay a trap for me.

I knew all of these things, of course.

But for some stupid reason, I was determined to cling to the few shreds of optimism I had left. I had to have hope. There would be no future without it.

“She wants to speak with me privately before we go to the king,” I told Dravyn.

“…But she’s agreed to speak with Fallon, too?”

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