Valek would need to buy poor Ilom a bottle of his favorite bourbon for enduring what was coming next.
Ilom’s head jerked down as he cried out in pain. Undaunted, Cahil pulled Ilom’s nose then clawed at the flesh under his chin. Ilom yelped and blood welled from the scratches on his neck. Cahil stepped back in astonishment. It was worth all the trouble just to witness his reaction. The Wannabe King reached toward Ilom’s face again, but Marrok grabbed him and held him.
“Release the Adviser,” Roze ordered.
Ilom’s manacles were removed as Cahil, his face red with rage, and his men were escorted from the room. The trial ended and Roze rushed to reassure the Ambassador and Ilom.
Valek didn’t listen to the apologetic words. He met Yelena’s relieved gaze.See, love? And you were worried.
* * *
Later that night, Valek snuck into the keep and was surprised that no guards watched Yelena’s room. While it made it easier for him to visit, it concerned him. Yes, she’d handled herself brilliantly, but it never hurt to have a couple extra sets of eyes.
He still entered through her bedroom. When he opened the window and slipped inside, she sat up in bed and the snick of her switchblade sounded. Undaunted, he closed the shutters, shucked his boots, and joined her
“You need to leave. Too many people know you’re here,” she said.
“Not until we find the killer. And besides, the Commander ordered me to protect the Ambassador. I would be remiss in my duties if I left.”
“What if she ordered you home?”
“The Commander’s orders overrule all others.”
“Valek, did you?—”
He kissed her before she could ask him if he killed Goel. Tonight was not for talking or planning or problems. It was for them. It’d been a long separation, and he knew his time in Sitia neared an end. Yelena understood his need and tugged his shirt off. He smiled, delighted. All his worries melted away. Nothing was more important than the woman in his arms.
Unfortunately, reality intruded late into the night. Valek needed to be well away from the keep before dawn. Cahil wouldn’t stop looking for him. He had to be extra careful.
He spent most of the next day keeping a low profile and getting ready for the exchange scheduled for that night. Yelena had told him about a new Sitian drug called Curare, which paralyzed a person but didn’t kill them. According to her, it targeted a person’s muscles but allowed their heart to beat and lungs to breathe. Ferde had used the drug on his victims and would probably be armed with darts full of it. Valek’s extra layer of Sitian clothing over his sneak suit should help resist the needle of a dart, but he worried about Yelena.
Pulling a set of black clothing made from a special fabric from his pack, Valek grabbed his sewing kit and tried to alter the garments to fit Yelena. She’d be in the most danger tonight and it made sense for her to wear them.
Since it was easier to enter the Keep in the daylight, Valek crossed through the entrance in the late afternoon. Yelena wasn’t in her room, so he searched for her. Riding her horse without a saddle, Yelena kept her balance as Kiki navigated the uneven ground with a smooth gait. The two of them moved as one. Yelena had said Kiki had captured her heart, and he was glad to see her riding with such confidence.
When they headed toward the stables, Valek returned to Yelena’s room. Soon the sun would set, and they needed to finalize their plans for the rendezvous and exchange. Or rather the ambush. Ferde would die tonight.
Yelena arrived. No longer appearing confident, her brows were creased with worry.
“Here.” He handed her the black turtleneck shirt and pants he’d altered, hoping it would give her some assurance. “They’re made of a special fabric that will protect you from airborne darts from a blow gun, but it won’t stop a dart if you get jabbed by one.”
“These are great,” she said, changing into them.
They hung loose on her small frame. She rolled up the sleeves and threaded a belt through the loops to keep the pants from falling to the floor. Adorable.
A brief smile touched Valek’s lips. “They were mine. I’m not the best seamstress.”
He watched as she packed. She stuffed various items into her bag, including a grapple, rope, and an apple, along with some things he didn’t recognize.
“What’s with the small brown egg?” he asked.
She grinned. “It’s Theobroma.”
That name meant nothing to him. He waited.
“Oh, right. It’s Criollo. The Sitians call it Theobroma.”
It took every bit of self-control for him not to tear into her pack and throw the egg into the fire. “Why do you have it? It’s dangerous.”
