Page 23 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Still, we can’t be certain they’re not having supplies smuggled to them. They’ve proven to be resilient bastards, but that’s where my Wren may be able to benefit us. She caught the eye of Bennett Langston last evening, and he has graciously invited her to join him again tonight. We are all aware of Wren’s… abilities… and I think we will find it in our favor if we use her to our advantage. I don’t like to suspect the Langstons anymore than any of you, but the facts remain. They have coin and resources, and the reclusiveness to deliver it to Legion unnoticed. And while I generally find the Langstons to be tolerable, should I learn they’ve crossed me, I will deliver a brutal death to each of them myself.”

I don’t flinch from Sin’s violent promise. Actually, I find the fact he referred to me asmy Wrento be more disturbing than the bitter threat he made towards the Langstons.

“Forgive my ignorance, but how does your power work exactly, Wren?” Aldred asks.

I blink innocently. “Which one?”

“Your ability to interpret intentions.”

“Mages are closely connected with their collectives, as you know. I can manipulate mine to sort of latch onto others and meld them into my own. It allows me to feel someone’s most inner, truest feelings.” I glance back to Sin to find him watching me intently as if he can’t fully mask his curiosity about my magic. Or maybe he is remembering the times he caught me reading him before and is uncomfortable with my knowledge of the raging emotional storm wreaking havoc inside him.

“Fascinating,” Aldred breathes.

Dusaro clears his throat. “More like an abomination.”

“The only abomination in this room is your manners.” I turn my attention to Dusaro but swear I see a smirk on Sin’s face in my periphery.

“You forget who you’re talking to, bloodwitch.”

“And you forget I could explode your heart without breaking a sweat, my Lord.”

“Enough.” Sin silences both of us with a heavy glare.

Finished with my food, I fold my arms across my chest and remain quiet for the remainder of the meeting, only nodding and answering curtly when directly spoken to. I learn Aldred is the commander of the kingdom’s armies, which explains the heavy armor he was wearing the last time I saw him. The robed woman and the balding man—Anika and Cassius—are, in fact, part of the royal mage council.

I shake my head when Sin asks if I have any questions about the role I am to play tonight. Like the good little lady I am, I will strengthen Bennett’s affection for me and exploit that vulnerability as a catalyst to search deeper into his collective, looking for any signs of distrust I may have missed. Anything that may suggest the Langstons are responsible for the weapons and medicines Legion seems to continue getting their hands on.

On that note, Sin dismisses the council, prompting them to quickly stand and file from the room. I push my chair in and turn to leave, not bothering to bid farewell to Sin whose smoldering gaze still watches me intently.

He clears his throat. “I’ll send River to dress you this afternoon.”

“I am perfectly capable of getting myself ready, Your Grace. There is no need to bother her.”

The grin that appears on his face is utterly indecent, and his eyes slowly trace down the lines of my neck and linger on the ties of my bodice for a second too long. “I want you done up like you were last night.”

And with that statement, whatever rebuttal I was about to make gets stuck in my throat as the weight of his words sinks in. So instead, I feign a smile and dip my knees in an exaggerated curtsy. “As you command it, my Blackheart.”

Ispend the afternoon meandering through the castle gardens, the splashes of white and violet petals a welcome distraction from the thoughts insistent on plaguing me. Various scenarios of how my meeting with Bennett will play out turn over in my mind, again and again.

And then it dawns on me—I will be alone tonight.

Slipping away from Bennett would be easy. Countless excuses take shape on my tongue—each providing a reason for us to separate, giving me just enough time to put some distance between myself and Scarwood before he alerted the kingdom of my disappearance. If I acted fast and clung to the woods, I would be gone before they caught my trail. The trees are too dense for guards to chase me on horseback and with a head start, I may be able to pull it off. The thought seduces me like a roguish enchantress, but freedom—though sweet and enticing—is not a dream I can afford to entertain.

Becausehewould track me with the tethering spell. Hunt me down himself like some sort of rabid beast, and I the last living thing to eat. If I fled for home, I might as well draw a map and hand it to Sin, courtesy of the magical rope binding us.

I do not doubt Sin’s strength. The bloodwitch within me could overpower him if I were to spill blood and unleash her, but so long as I keep her caged, Sin’s magic is boosted with Adelphia’s blessing, and therefore, more powerful than mine.

I haven’t forgotten the horrid sensation that washed over me each time I reached out and touched his collective. Like standing at the edge of the Howling Sea as a tsunami-sized wave reared up and crashed into me. Except if the sea was on fire, and the water ignited everything brave enough or stupid enough to step into its path. That amount of pain and shame and guilt isn’t merely the product of being the Black Art, responsible for an entire kingdom of people. It is the result of something more, something darker, and a small part of me wants to know more about it.

The part of me that is riddled with darkness—an anger I’ve grown as accustomed to sharing my body with as the bones in my flesh. Anger at my parents for not loving me. Anger at Cathal for his betrayal, and for the violation he bestowed upon my body. And anger at myself. Fury rises in my throat as I acknowledge that part of me that hates myself more than all the others who have wronged me. For not being strong enough to fight back against those that have hurt me. Only a coward would have walked away and left her friend to rot in a Legion camp. It is that part of me, the part that knows shame and wrath and guilt, that would like to know more about what is plaguing Singard Kilbreth.

River is sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed when I return to my room, tapping a sandaled foot against the floor. I smile sheepishly and mutter an apology for making her wait before I note the irony in that. Offering an atonement for making the Black Art’s housekeeper wait before dolling me up in fashion Sin will approve of—disgraceful. She pulls a wooden chair tucked in the corner to the center of the room and motions for me to sit. I gather the hem of my skirts and take a seat, and River’s hands begin unraveling my braid and combing my hair immediately.

“Why the glum face, dear? Are you not excited for your date tonight?” she asks, seemingly forgetting she was annoyed at me for my tardiness just minutes ago.

I meet her warm eyes in the mirror. “Tell me you’re joking. I possess no desire to ever speak with Mr. Langston again, but Sin is making me go.” I half expect her to question me on what business the Black Art has planned for me, but she doesn’t. And for that, I am relieved, as my mood is sour enough without having to sharewhatI am with her, if she hasn’t already been informed.

“I know you likely don’t want to hear this, but Singard isn’t all bad, you know. The boy has had a tough life. Lost his mother young. His father—now you know I have the utmost respect for His Grace and his father, but… he can be a lot for a young boy to handle. Even for the youngmanhe is now. Those two bicker constantly,” she scolds, shaking her head as she works out a tangle with her fine-toothed comb.

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