Page 79 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“You’re right,” I say. “It’s really fucking stupid.”
She nods approvingly. “But you have your magic back now, which means you’re going to stop torturing yourself, right?”
“Right,” I say.
“Thank you for telling me,” she says, her sarcasm giving way to sincerity, and I nearly collapse from relief.
She forgives me, and that’s a thousand times better than winning over the dryads.
Chapter 26
Corrin
“Exactly zero public appearances between now and the ceremony. She’s not even dining with her court.” Damia kicks the foot of the bed. “It’s like she’s hiding from us.”
“I know,” I say, stretching out across the bed in our room. “I can’t believe she’s not making it easy for us to kill her. It’s very rude.”
Damia glowers. “You could at least pretend that you’re invested in this mission.”
“Oh I am,” I say. “I’m expecting great rewards in the near future, remember? Just right now, I’m more invested in getting some lunch.”
She sighs, throwing herself down into an elegant armchair. Even in all her finery, I can see the soldier underneath, kicking her boots up onto the furniture after a long battle.
“I knew bringing you along was a waste of time. We could’ve made things work with Stratton.”
“Hey,” I protest. “Who was it who found out Oclanna’s taking all her meals privately in the first place?”
I played the role of idiot lord to perfection last night, pretending to be so eager to get a chance to see the future queen that I’d lower myself toquestioning all the staff on the subject. Baron Hornifold had been most disappointed when he found out he probably wouldn’t lay eyes on Oclanna anytime soon.
“But it doesn’t help us,” Damia says, taking Barb out and letting the little serpent wind between her fingers.
I’m not offended by Damia’s frustration with me. She’s frustrated with everything. The argument about the bed had been a moot point in the end, because she stayed up drawing maps of the palace and strategizing ways to get the others inside until eventually she fell asleep in the armchair. She’s clearly feeling the pressure of the job, only giving me a grunt of thanks when she woke up the next morning to find herself draped in a blanket with a cushion under her head.
I, on the other hand, am rather enjoying myself. Palace life suits me—great food, polite staff, and a mattress so comfortable I woke up thinking I’d died and gone to the Eternal Realm. I’m also learning it’s quite fun winding Damia up. Though I have to be careful she doesn’t notice I’m doing it on purpose.
“So we’re not going to be able to hit hard and fast like you’d hoped. There’s still Stratton’s poisoning plan. That could give us a chance to actually get out of this place before the guards start looking for heads to chop off.”
Our exit strategy has been a point of contention between us from the beginning. Damia is absurdly confident that we’ll be able to wriggle our way out of this palace once we’ve taken the regent down. I suppose a lifetime of warring and getting out of tight scrapes will do that to a woman, but she seems certain my shadows will be exactly what we need. I hope she’s right, but I also keep picturing our heads on spikes outside the city gates.
“We’d have to get him in first,” Damia points out.
I shrug. “So that’s our next priority,” I say. “Something to muse on over lunch.” I rise and offer her my hand. She takes it with the hand still hosting Barb, and I pretend not to be alarmed when the serpent winds its way off her wrist and onto my knuckles. Her little tongue flickers across my skin, and she lowers her head, watching me with bright, beady eyes.
“Hello, my small, scaled friend,” I say to the snake, hoping I’m not about to get two sharp little fangs in my flesh.
“She likes you,” Damia says, sounding annoyed by it.
“Most people do, you know, once they get to know me.” I risk winking at her. Damia releases my hand quickly, making Barb hiss.
“Let’s just go get some food,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
It wouldn’t be so fun if she wasn’t so easy to tease.
I find Barb a nice vase to hide out in, then follow Damia to the court dining room where we ate dinner last night. I insist we seat ourselves right in the middle of a loud group of lords and ladies, turning on the charm for maximum effect. It’s an added bonus that I can feel Damia’s irritation growing with every joke I tell or interesting anecdote I share. But I’m good at this—you don’t get to host the most popular bars and gambling dens in the city without knowing how to turn on the charm and tailor it to your audience.
“And then the soldier says to the countess, ‘That’s notmysword, my lady. And it’s not the general’s either!’”
I grin as I deliver the punchline of the joke, and the three ladies listening descend into fits of laughter.
