Page 8 of Fortress of Ambrose
Yagrin didn’t need research. He worked on instinct. A person’s actions revealed their truest desires, not their words. And it was clear to him that Nore was desperate to find the lost Scroll half. Almost too desperate…Either she feared what Jordan would do if she failed to keep her end of the bargain or she had ulterior motives. He cleared his throat.
But so did he.
They would be on the same team until they weren’t anymore.
Nore’s smile widened as she drew out the anticipation, and it ground his annoyance. Another reason he preferred to work alone.
“Out with it,” he demanded, reaching for what appeared to be a book in her hand. “What is it?”
“Stole it right from under his nose.”
He tried to take it from her, but she didn’t let go, raising a single brow.
“Can I, er, see it, please?”
She released it.Intellectus secat acutissimumwas inscribed on its leather-bound cover.
“The personal discoveries of Dublin Kyn. How?”
She went on to tell him about how she made a deal with the tattooist to help her get them alone when the sky suddenly darkened. Nore grew pale, looking over her shoulder.
“Not here,” she said, taking the book and walking off at a quick stride. “Can you cloak?”
“Magic’s been funny since the Sphere broke. You have any transport powder?” he asked.
“I—um, no, I don’t. All out.” She hurried, leaving him there, and he had to hustle to keep up when she stopped several blocks away to find a discreet spot.
Lit-Tea-Rally was a quaint used-bookstore teahouse. Yagrin opened the door and stepped aside to let her through. A line stretched from the counter in a room full of books, bistro tables, and cozy chairs. But she skirted the crowd and stared out the shop window.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
His jaw set at the lie. Running around with an heir in the Order, what had become of him? When the sky began to brighten, Nore blew out a sharp breath and held her stomach.
“Would you like a lemon poppy-seed muffin? I read the heir of House Ambrose likes lemon.”
“You’vereadabout me?”
“I’ve read about all the heirs, their families, their histories. It is part of Perl’s House studies.”
Nore hugged around herself. “I’m fine.” She skipped the line and traipsed through towering bookshelves to the back of the store near the historical section. He followed. She slid into a seat at a small table, and though the chair beside her was open, he sat across from her.
Yagrin knew he was selfish, but he wasn’t a monster. So he’d done his best to keep his distance to avoid giving her the wrong impression while they worked together. The nights she spent researching, he’d rest. Then they’d switch. When they ate, they’d take turns, never opening an opportunity for conversation. This girl would hate him by the end of their time together—because the minute they got their hands on that final Scroll piece, he was done helping her.
And he wasn’t sorry for it. Since when had anyone ever given consideration to what he wanted? His father’s shadow loomed, the sting of his“love” still hot on Yagrin’s cheeks so many years later. His aunt had left her mark, too, in bruises and canine bite marks all over his body. He had been broken, beaten, and bred to be an assassin errand-boy for House of Perl. He was resigned, at first, to do what he was told and steal in-between moments to live his life with Red.
That would be enough, he had told himself. Until the Order killed her.
But if Red could live…He forced down the lump in his throat. Maybe revenge wasn’t the only thing worth his life’s devotion. For once, he was putting himself first.
Nore reached for the journal. “You’re going to have to get closer.”
He hesitated but moved to the chair beside her. The smell of her assaulted him. Rubbery and plastic, with an undertone of florals. “You smell like…paint?”
Her face flushed.
“Didn’t take Ambrosers for the creative type.”
