The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)

Elia twisted her wrists in their bindings, mindful not to show how loose they truly were. Cass gave the rope a final tug, then took her by the arm to drag her along.

Most of the people who’d been in the cabin had already departed, Banne among them. Only the old man, Haren, and a small cluster of men still remained. Peretor was with them, his attention fixed on Elia. His clear worry stirred guilt within her, and in a way, it made her proud—which only made her feel more guilty in turn.

If he was worried, it meant she was doing a good job.

Cass had suggested their private meeting would be less suspicious if she behaved as if it upset her. It hadn’t been hard, given how truly upset she’d been after dealing with the rough edges of his identity as Badger. She’d emerged from the room with her hair a mess and tear stains on her face, which had all but sent Peretor into a frenzy when she’d been escorted back to the cell. Trying to convince him that she hadn’t actually been harmed only brought on more tears, but she couldn’t bear to let him think Cass was a monster.

He hadn’t believed her. Given the way she kept her head down and avoided looking at Cass any time he came near, she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

“Get moving,” Cass ordered, and the rest of them set off before he gave them directions. “Northwest toward Vinerest. Fifteen miles before we make camp.”

A chorus of complaints went up from the small group.

“Move,” he bellowed.

Peretor dragged his feet in an effort to close the distance between them, but Elia pretended she didn’t notice. She kept her eyes down as Cass guided her through the snow.

“Fight when he runs,” he whispered as they started off. “You can’t go at the same time, but you need to try.”

Whispering between them was bound to earn them a few suspicious glances, so she made a point of scowling in response.

He kept firm hold of her as they moved, but instead of just forcing her along like he’d done during their approach toward the cabin, he offered support. She admitted it made it easier to keep her balance. She’d never traveled much in the snow, but her arms were more necessary than she thought. The others swung their arms wide as they stepped over swells and drifts. She had no such luxury, but at least she wasn’t alone. Peretor struggled, too.

How likely was he to run? They hadn’t had time to discuss fallback plans. If he got loose, he was just as likely to try to free her as he was to take off on his own. Especially after she’d tried to come to his rescue, several days before.

Has it really been so little time? She glanced back at Cass, who stared ahead with such a cold, stony expression that she might have thought him made of ice. It felt longer.

Men grumbled for the first few minutes of travel, but it died down after they got going. There were roads between Samara and Vinerest, but Elia assumed they’d steer clear of them, lest they have to explain why part of their entourage was bound with rope.

After an hour, Peretor’s opening came.

She didn’t see what happened, but the shouts that rose from his escorts drew everyone’s attention. He ducked low and snatched a knife from the belt of one of his captors, gripping it tight between his bound hands. The other man beside him tried to grab the weapon, and a spatter of crimson across the snow showed his failure.

Peretor wheeled on the man whose knife he’d stolen, but he stumbled back with his hands raised, not wanting a fight.

“Haren!” Cass shouted, though the old man was already sprinting back from the lead group.

Haren should have had his attention. Instead, Peretor swung toward her.

She fought back a groan. Of all the times for chivalry. “Peretor, go!” Elia twisted against Cass’s grip on her arm, expecting it to tighten. To her surprise, it didn’t. She lost balance and crashed sideways into the snowy ground.

For half a second, Cass looked between Peretor and her, but Haren had already closed the distance, and he lunged at Peretor with his knife drawn.

Light save him. She couldn’t help but grasp at her throat. Peretor was courageous, but he didn’t know how to fight while bound.

Before her fingertips could do more than graze her skin, Cass seized her by the wrists and dragged her to her knees. “Up,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on the fight.

More of the men from Haren’s group ran back to join the scuffle, their bodies blocking her view, and a sick sense of worry brewed in the pit of her stomach. How was he supposed to escape like that?

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

Maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe Banne had no intention of playing along with Cass’s plan.

Then the group split. Someone tripped, and Peretor sprang from the cluster with his hands free.

Elia tried to leap to her feet, thinking she’d follow, but Cass held her hands too tight and she couldn’t break free.

“Good,” he whispered, though he gritted his teeth and lurched forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders and keep her in place.

The praise was so discordant against his actions that it became a struggle not to laugh.

“Go! Run!” she shouted, the words leaving her throat raw.

This time, Peretor didn’t hesitate for more than a second. Apology flooded his face as he took off for the woods. Behind him, the cluster of men split, and Elia winced at the sight of a man sprawled on the snow. Had that been part of the plan, or had Peretor surprised them?

“Curse it all,” Cass spat. He’d only just gotten Elia back to her feet, but he planted a hand on her shoulder and shoved her down to the snow. “Hold her!” he barked as he sprinted after Peretor alongside one of Haren’s men.

Her stomach lurched. Was this when she was supposed to run? She clenched her hands to fists and shoved her knuckles against the ground, struggling to rise. Something pinched beneath her skirt and she didn’t dare adjust it. Cass had given her a knife, making good on his claim he’d only meant to find somewhere she could hide it, but the sheath belted tight to her thigh was uncomfortable when she tried to stand.

The moment she found her feet, Haren snagged her by the coat and kept her from moving a step. She rocked her shoulders, trying to free herself from his grasp, but that only resulted in him dragging her closer. As rough as Cass had been, the way Haren wrestled her down to her knees made it clear everything Cass had done was tightly controlled. She gave up fighting and went down to spare herself from injury.

“Don’t get your hopes up, missy,” the old man said with a dark chuckle. “Your little friend won’t go far.”

Dread hit her like a shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she suspected she already had the answer. Banne had looked at her half a dozen times as she and Cass discussed the plan to let Peretor go. Her men had to know Elia had heard.

Haren didn’t reply, just gave another low chuckle.

Ice clumped in the pit of her stomach, dragging it down.

They had no intention of letting Peretor go.

Her hands were already bound together, so she laced her fingers and held them close to her chest. The Light protect him, she silently begged.

The group that held Peretor now came toward her. A small knot of fear twisted inside her, winding itself up and pulling tighter.

Cass had vanished among the trees. Without him, she had no hope for safety. She wiggled her knees in the snow, but Haren put a hand on her shoulder and kept her from rising. Cold and wet seeped through her skirt, and she found herself more grateful than ever for the ring Cass had given her.

“How long do we wait?” one of the nameless men asked, his voice low.

“Couple minutes. Badger will find us if he wants.” Haren shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

A few of the men exchanged glances, but no one else spoke.

The silent minutes that crawled by afterward felt like an eternity. Men shuffled and coughed, stamping in place to keep their feet warm.

Eventually, Haren let her go. “Time’s up.”

Elia glanced the way Peretor and Cass had gone, but there was nothing to see. That tangle of fear writhed inside her, tendrils coming to crawl through her soul even as they wrapped ever tighter on themselves. Haren stepped back and pointed northwest. “Get moving.”

His men offered no complaint. Elia struggled to rise without use of her hands. “What about the others?”

The old man almost cackled. “Missing your sweetheart already?”

Her shoulders tensed before she realized it was a jab. She and Cass had been shut in what she assumed was his room, since he was their leader, and she’d come out crying. The assumption was only natural. Fine. Let them assume he’d made a beast of himself. She allowed her face to twist into a scowl.

“Get a move on, then.” Haren prodded her back. He made no move to hold on to her like Cass did, for which she was grateful, but the men hung close, guaranteeing there was no way for her to run.

All she could do was bide her time.

Now and then, someone looked back. She looked with them, pretending to be curious what they saw. She dared not look back for Cass on her own.

How far would they go? How long before he came back? Anxiety rose in her chest, lifting a lump into her throat that wouldn’t go away.

It did not ease when a figure appeared behind them.

She knew it was Cass at first glance. Not because she saw him clearly, but because of the way he held his side as he walked. No matter how good of herbs he’d been treated with, the injury was still there. If it had reopened while he ran, it would need to be seen to, and she doubted she could find some excuse to tend to the injury.

Haren motioned for the rest of them to continue as he planted his feet and waited for him to catch up. “Where’s Sil?” the old man asked as soon as Cass was within earshot.

Elia turned an ear toward them, hoping to hear.

Cass did not keep his voice down. “Pursuing. Give me the girl.”

She halted, then thought better of it and tried to move faster. A man’s hand closed on the collar of her coat, drawing her to a stop.

Haren frowned. “What for?”

“What do you think?” Cass replied through gritted teeth as he unbuttoned his coat. A dark shadow stained his shirt underneath.

The old man grunted and raised a fist, an order to stop and drop their bags. “Kit’s in Badger’s things. Someone get it out and see to that.”

“The girl,” Cass repeated.

“Why her?” someone asked.

“Because I don’t want your filthy hands on me,” he spat. “Get over here, princess.”

A flush rose into her cheeks and she trudged over, mindful to hide her worry.

“You’re stupid for running,” Haren said before he turned away. He didn’t linger to supervise the dressing of the wound. Instead, he put a good bit of distance between them and dropped his bags to the snow, sitting atop them as he drew his pipe from his pocket.

Elia knew where the medical supplies were, but she pretended she didn’t. Rooting around in his belongings with bound wrists gained her nothing, but she hoped it helped with the illusion of unwillingness. Nervousness made her fingers tremble. She swallowed hard and tried to steady her hands as she reached for the bandages.

Cass caught her wrist and dragged her close enough that he could whisper right against her ear. “Peretor’s gone. You next.”

She nodded in understanding, but set her lips firmly together.

He brought up a knife and snapped the rope that held her hands together. When he spoke again, it was at normal volume. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“No, sir,” she whispered back.

The bandages came away easily, but she grimaced at the state of the injury underneath. Simply running shouldn’t have done that. She raised a brow as if to question, but he told her nothing, so she set to work.

He sat unflinching as she repaired him for a second time. Whatever they’d used on him at the palace, it had worked wonders compared to the poultice her own maid provided. It had healed a good bit already, but the worst of the gash still required stitches to close it. She whispered apologies as she worked, though the most response she got out of him was a slight twitch at the corner of his eye.

“Good?” she asked as she finished and spread salve from the healing kit over the wound.

All he did was exhale.

“All right. Let’s wrap you up, then. We’re done.” She hated that he sat in the cold for care to be administered, but she recognized there weren’t any other options.

“We are,” he agreed, so softly and firmly that it gave her pause.

Her brow furrowed.

“This is it,” he said, and the weight of his unspoken meaning dropped on her heart like a lead weight.

No. He didn’t mean that. She tried to breathe, but it caught in her throat with his name. “Cass—”

He caught her fingertips in his hand and guided them back to the bandages, pretending he wanted something adjusted. He kept his voice so soft, she hardly heard him. “They’re all lounging. Make up an excuse. Then take me down.”

“No,” she whispered back. She struggled to tighten the bandages as her chest clenched. “I can’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” Cass pulled her hand away and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Make it convincing. Don’t hold back. Don’t stop for anything. You know what you need to do.”

Except she didn’t. She shook her head and wanted to protest, but he was already rising, and their proximity forced her to take a step back. He closed his shirt and his coat over the top of it, then bent to pick up his bags. He didn’t so much as wince.

For once, the sullenness that filled her expression was genuine.

“That’ll do for now,” he said as he flattened a hand against his side, back to being Badger instead of the man she knew and trusted. “You’ll check it again when we make camp.”

“Can’t we make camp now?” she asked, hoping her natural voice was loud enough to hear. If she tried to project, she ran the risk of it sounding forced.

“No. Get moving.” He motioned toward the northwest, the opposite of the way she knew he meant.

Get moving. Get going. Make your escape. It all meant the same thing, and in that moment, she hated those words. “Come with me,” she whispered.

Cass shook his head.

Then this was it. “Fine. Let me eat something, first.” She shrugged out of the bags they’d made her carry, that she’d brought along from the palace. Any bit of weight she could shed would let her move faster. The others were gathering their things. They’d be weighed down.

“You can eat on the move,” he growled at her.

She ignored him and unbuttoned her coat.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t sit on the ground. It’s cold and wet.” Her ring would keep her warm. She touched it with her thumb, her chest aching. Tears pricked at her eyes. She dared not cry.

I don’t want to leave you, she thought, willing him to hear the words in her heart as she met his gaze.

I don’t want you to go, his said back.

She spread her coat on the ground as if she meant to sit down.

“Move,” he snapped, and she understood the order for what it was.

Make it convincing, he’d said.

She clenched her hands to fists and kicked him between the legs.

He spat a curse and collapsed to his knees.

Elia choked back her guilt and ran.