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She takes a drink and gently sets the cup on the table. Silence reigns as she finally meets my eye again. “Yes,” she says evenly.
“I’m still good with that plan.” Parnon thumps his chest.
“But we don’t have to do it that way. Not with your help.” Silmaran opens her palms and lays her hands on the table. “I already have enough blood on these to last a lifetime. I don’t want any more. We can do this.” She shoots a look at Chastain.
His mouth is set in a thin line. Worry is written all over him, but not for himself. For her. I can relate.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “This has a very low chance of success.”
“Maybe.” Silmaran holds my gaze.
“You will most likely die.”
“Most likely.”
“A painful death.”
“I’m good with that.”
I consider her plan and the resolve with which she’s constructed it. I’m not convinced, but Beth is. I can feel her practically vibrating at my side. So, with a sigh, I throw up my hands. “All right.”
Silmaran nods in gratitude.
“Anything that involves him wearing this outfit is an excellent plan, in my opinion.” Beth beams at me. “You should try it on. I think it will look perfect on you. Really good with your coloring.”
“Is that so, little changeling?” I wrap my arm around her and tickle her side.
She squirms and laughs as I pull her close.
How did I resist her for so long? Only the Ancestors know. Because now, I can’t keep my hands off her. And we aren’t even mated yet. I can’t imagine how much my need for her will grow when she bears my mark.
“Parnon, Eldra, Nemar, and I will be your slaves.”
“Won’t you be recognized?” Beth asks.
“No.” Silmaran pulls her white shawl across her face. “Face coverings are common here, especially for females. And anyone coming off the desert will usually wear a scarf or kerchief to keep out the sand and dust.”
“It’s too dangerous for you, Sil.” Chastain shakes his head, his golden locks bouncing. “You get spotted right off, and all of our plans turn to ashes.” I don’t miss the note of concern in his voice, one that speaks to a deeper fear of losing her.
“I have to go.” She grabs a date and bites it just shy of the pit. “The people need to see that I’m willing to risk all. That’s the only way they will join the fight. You know that.”
Chastain leans forward and takes her hand. “You won’t make it to the fight if Zatran finds you among Gareth’s slaves.”
She flicks the pit onto her plate and finishes the date. “Then I won’t let him find me.”
“What fighters do we have?” I look around the table. “I bested Chastain on the street, evaded Silmaran, and haven’t seen the rest of you lift a blade.”
“I fight.” Parnon picks up Silmaran’s discarded pit and chews it with ease.
“Any skill?”
Parnon cracks his knuckles. “I. Fight.”
“Chastain, do you have magic?”
“No, just a talent.”
“What is it?” I’m not liking our odds so far.
“Nothing useful.” He plucks a golden ring from his finger and holds it in his palm. It goes liquid and morphs into a tiny owl, then a snake, then a tentacle. “I can manipulate gold.” He closes his palm, opens it, and slides his ring back on. “It’s a shame I can’t create more, instead.”
“I’m good with a bow and blades.” Nemar pats his chest. “Eldra is a bruiser with her fists and pretty good with a sword.”
“‘Pretty good’ is it?” Eldra sniffs. “I hand you your ass every time you challenge me.”
“You don’t have to brag about it.” He tries to act aggrieved but fails. “Okay, fine. She’s great with a sword.”
“Better,” she says. They clink their cups and drink.
“So we have a few close-combat fighters. That’s it?”
“We have an entire city at our backs.” Silmaran twirls her finger in a circular motion. “All of them will follow our lead.”
“Blind faith isn’t a weapon.” I scratch my jaw. “The slaves aren’t sure to rise.”
“Yes, they are. I’ve fought for them day in, day out for the past three years. We’ve been waiting for this moment. All of us. When I call, they will turn on their masters.”
“And that’s another issue.” I stroke Beth’s arm. “I don’t like pretending to own slaves. Can’t we skip that part?”
“No. In Cranthum, a high fae without slaves is viewed as deficient, worthless even.” Chastain spits the words. “You have to own others. It’s the only way to gain entry to Lord Zatran’s inner circle.”
Beth pats my knee. “You pretended with me. This’ll be easy.”
“Four slaves.” I shake my head.
“Five.” Beth nonchalantly pops more fig into her mouth.
“No.” I stare at her. “Not happening.”
She looks away. “Definitely happening.”
“You are my mate. I’ll not have you pretending to be my slave again.” I force myself to calm my tone, but it still comes out sharper than I’d like. “And that’s the end of it.”
She recoils, eyes narrowed. “You don’t want me to pretend to be your slave? That’s odd, because right now you’re talking to me like you own me.”
Her words rip through me, drawing blood. “You think I treat you like a slave?”
Her gaze softens. “No, it’s just—”
“You think I’d harm you like that? See you in chains? Force you into anything?” I stand. Have I failed so soundly at being her mate?
“Gareth, I’m sorry.” She reaches for my hand. “I only meant—”
“Give me that.” I step back and take the ridiculous get-up from Nemar. “When are we doing this?”
Silmaran cuts her concerned gaze from Beth to me and clears her throat. “As soon as you’re ready.”
“Let’s go, then.” I stride from the room without looking back.
7
Beth
The bedroom is cool despite the growing heat of the day outside. Gareth sits on the edge of bed, his head in his hands.
“Gareth.” I walk to him, regret quieting my steps.
“I’ve failed you.” He curls his fingers in his dark hair. “For you to think that of me. It means I’ve failed you. How can I be worthy of being your mate if you think I treat you as a slave?”
I’ve never seen him this raw. He’s always so strong, so stern. I suppose I’d begun to think he was invincible. And he is. To everyone except me. I realize that now, now that I’ve wounded him without thinking. How many foes have I seen him face? How many fights? How many times has he stepped up? How many times has he fought and bled for me? But he always comes out the victor. Stronger and stronger. And yet, he still has a weakness. One I never expected. Me.
I kneel in front of him and grab his wrists. Pulling his hands from his face, I stare up at him, the wounded feral’s eyes glinting with swirls of gold. “I didn’t mean it.” I kiss the back of one hand, then the other. “I know you don’t treat me as a slave.”
“Have I hurt you?” The misery in his voice has me scooting even closer to him.
“No.” I press his palm to my cheek. “And I know you want to protect me.”
“Yes.” He strokes my skin, and some part of me relaxes. “I can’t let you get hurt. Not anymore.” He slides his fingers to my throat and runs his thumb across one of my scars. “You’ve been through so much already. I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t there to strike Granthos down and take you to safety.”
“You couldn’t have known.” I cover his hand with mine.
“Your life has been so hard, so fraught with terror and unfairness. I don’t want you to have to fight when I can do the fighting for you.” He kisses my crown. “You are far too precious to me, and I can’t let you get hurt again.”
This male. This. Male. My heart melts until I’m warm all over, and
I press my forehead to his. “You can’t keep me out of danger all the time. That’s not why I set out to find Clotty. I knew this path would be treacherous, and I chose to walk it anyway. Because I owe it to her. And I owe it to myself to take the reins of my own fate. You can’t keep me tucked away, safe from the rest of Arin. You have to let me make my own choices.”
“If something happened to you …” His voice thickens.
I kiss his palm. “Don’t you think being near me is the best way to keep me safe?”
“Yes, but—”
“So, keep me near you.” I scoot even closer, spreading his knees apart so I can wrap my arms around his waist. “Let me pretend to be your slave harlot.”
He takes in a quick breath. “Slave harlot?”
I lean back and bat my lashes at him. “Yes. I’ll be your special changeling. The one who sees to all your needs.” I pull his finger to my mouth and bite down lightly.
