Page 78 of Godsbane
Once Kieran stalks out of the tavern door and into the night, I turn to face Cal. I need a moment to tamper down my magic before I can speak.
“I can fight my own battles,” I remind him.
“That fucker deserves worse than that. Lucky for him, we need him, otherwise he’d be dead.”
I lift the tankard to my lips and take a moment to gather my thoughts as I finish off the warm amber liquid within. Soldiers from the docks, fresh off their shift, begin to filter into the tavern signaling the start of my role in this ruse. The part I tell myself is only for show.
“You’ll explain his part in all this tomorrow?” I ask, taking his chin in my fingers and angling his mouth downward toward mine.
“I promise,” Cal says on a breathy exhale.
His lips find mine, the first act in tonight’s production that ends with me leaving this place clinging to his body while his hands roam over all the places he intends to thoroughly explore.
Prying eyes watch us with a curious intensity that tells me that I was right. Word of the captain’s activities will be the talk of the port city by the time the sun fully rises over the Facet Mountains—and we’ll be long on the other side of the Alloy by then.
CHAPTER 29
Kieran is waiting for us in the shadowed alleyway near the tavern at sunrise. He’s dressed in brown again, the cloak hood fully concealing his identity.
“My passage?” he asks nervously.
Cal gives him a slight nod, never slowing as we pass. I cling to his side like he’s a piece of driftwood in the middle of the Eastern Sea. Last night’s performance was a success, but the addition of Kieran has me worried.
If the soldiers question us, Kieran is my brother. Cal drew a hard line at my suggestion of a very fake, very unserious threesome. The idea of someone else touching me drove him into a possessive rage that nearly made me break my self-imposed vow of celibacy.
Kieran pushes off the building wall and falls into a slightly slower pace several steps behind us. Cal’s black cloak floats behind him as if it’s carried on a phantom wind, a dark flag waving amidst shades of brown to signal his arrival.
The heir of Ruby would rather pretend to be a nameless, beaten brother than be seen boarding a boat in his own region, which can only mean one thing—he has made a very large enemy out of the Lord General.
The soldiers lift their hand in a salute as we approach the gangway. I lower my head so that loose hair and the edge of Cal’s arm shields my eyes just enough to hide their distinctive color but not obstruct my line of sight.
“Captain,” the tallest one says in acknowledgement. “All is as you requested. May the gods grant you safe passage.”
“May the gods bless you, Private.” Cal inclines his head at the man, placing a gold coin in his hand.
His hold on my arm tightens as we hastily board the ship. Kieran follows closely behind, his distinct red hair hidden safely beneath his hood.
Cal pulls us across the main deck, stopping halfway to lift a grated hatch. He ushers Kieran down the stairs first and then directs me to follow. We keep our heads down, avoiding eye contact with passing soldiers in the narrow corridor as we follow Cal’s lead.
“Captain Murphy? Is that you?” someone shouts down the hallway.
Panic courses through me, the emotion not entirely my own this time. Cal turns, his large hands grasping the sides of my head before he lowers his to shield me with a kiss. It’s quick and harsh, possessive and rough. Exactly how these men would expect him to treat someone whose time he purchased.
A door creaks open behind me, but before I can pull away, Cal is shoving me backwards into the open room.
“Wait here,” he commands. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The door closes quickly behind him, sealing Kieran and I inside the tiny room. The single bed against the wall takes up nearly the entire space, the only place to sit covered in haphazardly strewn, questionable bedding.
“You constantly surprise me, Ivy,” Kieran chuckles as I push away the ratty blanket to sit beside him on the worn mattress. “I never thought I’d see you falling for Murphy.”
“I never thought I’d see you hiding in your own region,” I quip back, not bothering to lie.
Kieran goes still, the playful smirk on his lips falling. “When you disobey direct orders, it’s usually best to hide your identity.” The color drains from his face, his freckled skin turning to a sickly shade of pallor. “Especially if you just poisoned your father.”
“Youwhat?” I ask in disbelief. “Why?”
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not sad that Charles Rollins is dead. He was a ruthless leader, a horrible misogynist, and somehow an even worse father, but I never imagined Kieran would take his life. Someone else who crossed him sure, but not his father.
