“Thank you,” she said. She was fairly certain that she meant far more than the dagger, but it was a start.
He dipped his chin. “Don’t use it on my guards.”
Nim pressed her lips to hold down a smile. “I said I was sorry about that.” His intimations slipped just enough to remind her of the grip she’d held on that candlestick. She cleared her throat. “Wesley said something that has me thinking.”
Warrick’s expression shifted, probably given the sudden swing in the conversation. One side of his brow rose. It made him painfully tempting.
“About your last name,” she explained. He reached across the distance, tugging her close. She gave him a small smile. “I suppose it isn’t truly yours, given the secret.” Nim had a vague recollection of a long-ago officer of the court with the family name Spenser, but she wasn’t certain if the king had meant to hide Warrick as the man’s son or some other, more distant relative.
“I don’t suppose I ever expected someone to take it.” His voice was soft, contemplative, and sent a shiver over her skin entirely unlike the unpleasant magic from earlier. Warrick’s magic was a delicious sort of tension, and the more she felt of it, the more she wanted. His eyes rose to hers. “You may keep your father’s name, love.” As long as I have you.
Nim swallowed hard. His intimations had returned, and she’d been entirely correct about what he was holding back. Warrick knew the Trust was toying with them, and he didn’t hide that he wanted nothing more than Nim at his side. He couldn’t leave the decision to her any longer, not when she was at risk. He would have to bind her to him, to reveal precisely what they were up against. He needed to do it now. He needed to have the thing done.
She shook her head, nearly overwhelmed by the force of his intimations. The king had said he would see her killed. And Calum, well, his response had been even worse. They would incite the wrath of Warrick’s father and his mother—the king of Inara and the head of the Trust. It felt like another fool thing, and yet, of all the fool things she’d done, choosing Warrick was the only one that truly made sense or made her feel safe. He was the only one she had ever imagined making sacrifices for—Warrick, who had never asked a sacrifice of her at all.
She leaned into him, setting her dagger on the desk beside him to plant her palms against his chest. He was wearing only a thin shirt, and beneath it were scars born of sacrifices he’d made for others.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Fates save us both from the consequences, but yes. Let us be married.”
Chapter 8
Nim had returned to her room in the small hours before dawn, her mind reeling with the plans Warrick had laid out. They would meet the following night after his duties as seneschal were complete to hold a ceremony before a magistrate and witness, and then, once she and Warrick were bound by law, the king would not be able to act against her without bringing scrutiny upon Warrick. Until then, Nim would not be able to breathe a word of it to anyone. So come morning, she would carry on with her visits to Allister and Margery as if nothing at all were amiss. It would require more untruths, but there was not much else to be done if she intended to stay alive.
She shook the nervous energy from her hands as she crossed the room then froze as her curtain-draped bed came into view. She had forgotten what had sent her running in her haste to find Calum and the planning that followed. Her feet moved slower, and her palm found the dagger she’d stashed in the pocket of her robe.
Standing before the bed she’d so recently escaped, Nim stared down at the pillow. On it, beside where her head had rested, lay two tiny jewels. No part of her was fool enough to think she should touch them, but the draw to magic never made sense. Her fingers stretched across the linens, barely brushing the sapphires before the magic within pricked her flesh. She snatched her hand back, stumbling away from the bed.
It had felt of Calum’s magic, dark, venomous, and familiar in a way that made her ill.
He was in the dungeon, alone in a cell, and yet, the matching gems to the ones she’d stolen to bind him—the ones Warrick had used to seal the new contract—lay on her pillow. The emeralds had been pried free from the three-headed snake that adorned Calum’s door, and he’d hidden them with the contract he’d used to trick Nim. But the sapphires had been intact the last she’d seen them.
The emeralds had belonged to the center snake, its eyes as green as Warrick’s. A sick feeling swelled through Nim as she recalled the other two carved serpents. The first had eyes of dark onyx, as black as Calum’s in the shadows. And the last, smaller serpent had held the sapphires, the serpent whose mouth was wide to reveal a set of lethal fangs. Her fingers curled into her palm as she remembered how the magic had drawn her, how the entire door had seemed to writhe beneath her touch, beckoning her. Recollections of the sensation inside the darkened corridor on her way to find Warrick followed—fingers trailed her skin, though she’d found nothing behind her. Someone had been inside her rooms.
“My lady.”
Nim nearly jumped from her skin at the sound of Maris’s voice. Heart pounding, she spun, dagger in one hand and the other pressed to her chest. “Maris. I’m sorry, I—”
What, she didn’t know. Warrick had kept his secrets. He had vowed not to lie to her, but there were things he was bound not to tell. Nim had discovered that Calum was his brother and realized that the two shared a mother. But there was more that she had not considered, more that could do her in.
“My lady,” Maris said again, something careful and cagey in her tone.
Nim lowered the dagger to her side. “I only had a fright,” she answered. “I’m… it will be fine.” She shook herself, straightening her shoulders as she turned to face Maris fully. “I’m afraid it’s too late for me to return to sleep now. Perhaps an early breakfast before we’re off to visit the manor and Lady Margery?”
Maris nodded and, if wary, still turned to go about the business of preparing for the day.
Nim dressed in one of the simpler gowns but strapped the dagger into a sheath on her thigh. She felt more confident with it, even though using a magical dagger on anyone, Trust associate or otherwise, would likely see her hanged. There were laws in Inara and laws within the Trust. Neither showed favor to someone like Nimona.
In short order, she’d managed to down a few bites of food and had walked with Maris through the courtyard in order to occupy herself outside the room. She was grateful she would not have to go back and that come evening, she would be staying with Warrick in his rooms. When Wesley finally came to fetch her, the night’s events and lack of sleep had worn her down.
“Would you like to go another day?” Wes asked, concern evident in his hazel eyes.
She patted his arm. “I wouldn’t want to miss this chance to see our friends, but thank you. I’m sure my enthusiasm will rally once we reach the manor.”
He smiled. “Tea and cakes.”
“Indeed,” she said.
A pair of castle guards stood in the corridor, and Wes leaned in to whisper that it was only a precaution. She wasn’t certain how much of her overnight adventure Warrick had relayed to Wes, but she supposed the additional protection would not hurt. The set of worries she’d grown used to had shifted into an unfamiliar reality. The guards were only part of it. She was an officer of the court, after all. Things had changed.