Thread of Darkness

Ch. 39: kiss me

"If you're going to steal something," Ryne said, "I'd prefer that you do it a bit more discreetly. You're insulting my intelligence."

Anna paused. She was holding a crystal plate, moving it suspiciously closer to an open leather bag. Her hands looked like twin pale birds in the moonlight, Ryne thought; he couldn't see them very well, but he knew that the backs were scarred from years of swordplay. A tiny freckle dotted her thumb.

Slowly, she set the plate down. "What intelligence?"

"Easy shot," Ryne said. "You're getting lazy, Cidarius."

Anna picked up a bottle. "What about this?"

Ryne squinted at it. A lemongrass liqueur, gifted to him by the Salvatorian ambassador. Ryne had thanked the ambassador, made a big show of taking a sip, and later hidden it in a cupboard. One of the servants must have taken it out for display.

"Oh, please take it," Ryne said. "You'd be doing me a favour."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Then I don't want it." She turned to a shelf, picking up a bag of golden dust. "And this?"

"Faerie dust," Ryne explained. "Spelled for good sleep." Anna plucked a silver goblet off the desk, and he frowned. "Not that. That's Gongonian silver."

Anna inspected the silver goblet. "A gift, I presume?"

Ryne stretched out his legs. "From Arlo. He visited my father several years ago during the hunting season."

"Pity he didn't bring you a dragon." Anna set it down. "Much more valuable. Free transport, and roasted marshmallows whenever you'd like."

She turned towards the bookstacks. The library was cloaked in darkness; only a single candle burned in the window, casting ghostly flames across the glass. Anna ran a hand along the shelf; she was limping, her leg swathed in white bandages like a sleeping corpse.

"How's the leg?" Ryne asked.

Anna pulled out a book. "Less shredded."

"Should you be walking on it?"

"Careful, Delafort." She turned, raising an eyebrow. "Someone might think you care."

"My only regret," Ryne said, "is that the cliff wasn't higher." He leaned back in his armchair. "You could have split your skull open."

Anna turned back the book. She looked tired, Ryne thought; there were dark smudges under her eyes, blooming like spring plums. She'd told them at dinner that they'd gone from town to town, sleeping on the outskirts in ramshackle tents. Then one night, Eris had suggested scaling a cliff to reach a cave below.

"It was just above the sea," Anna had said. "Not very steep. But it was dark, and we were hungry and tired. My foot slipped and..." She'd gestured at her calf. "Well. You can see what happened."

After Anna had devoured a roasted guinea fowl — and after Brigid had asked her to repeat her story twice, and after Teagan had hugged her tightly enough to crush lungs — she'd patched herself up in the infirmary. And now they were in the library, with only the musty smell of old books and woodsmoke for company.

Ryne rubbed his face.

Gods, he could use a whisky.

"Did Tristan say anything to you?" Ryne asked. "Before they left for the tower?"

Anna flipped a page. "He said a lot of things."

This, Ryne thought, did not particularly sound like Tristan. But maybe starvation and hypothermia changed a man. "I'm surprised they allowed you to return alone."