Jerri’s blush crept back, but she didn’t let go of the pouch.
Emmaline and Aeren followed as Ursula led the way toward the door, her wide stride cutting a clear path through the room. They’d almost reached the exit when Jerri’s voice rang out again.
“Wait!” She twisted her apron between her fingers. “Can I—will I see you again?”
Ursula paused, turning just enough to flash a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Not tonight, love. Very busy. But tomorrow? Tomorrow’s the solstice, and I’ll be celebrating in all the worst ways.” She winked. “You’re welcome to join me if you think you can keep up.”
Chapter twenty-nine
“Atleastwe’renotback in the bushes,” Ursula muttered, her voice low enough to blend into the ambient creak and groan of the old manor settling around them.
Aeren stood with her back to a rough-hewn support beam, rubbing both arms against the damp chill clinging to the air. The stone walls bled cold, the kind that crept under skin and settled deep in the bone. Even the racks lining the room seemed to bow under it, uneven ribs framing their path to the cellar door.
“We’re sure Caelith won’t come down here? Or any of his servants?” Emmaline whispered.
Ursula dragged a finger through the dust lining a nearby bottle, then wiped it off on her thigh. “From what I can tell, the only ones who set foot down here regularly are the toad—who has yet to befound.” She stuck her pinky between her teeth, picking at something with a little too much focus. “And Deyric. Other than that, only a cleaning crew comes on Monday night and Friday morning to restock and scrub the place down. Our esteemed Lord likes his privacy.”
“Can’t bribe every single person to keep quiet, I guess.” Aeren kicked at a loose chunk of mortar on the floor, sending it skittering into the shadows.
“It works in our favor now.” Ursula pulled a bottle loose and squinted at the label through the low light. Her mouth twisted, unimpressed, before she slid it back into place. “We just need to be gone before dawn.”
“Plenty of time.” Emmaline’s palm brushed over the hidden pocket inside her jacket where tonight’s special surprise waited—crafted just for Caelith.
After slipping out of the tavern, the three of them had snuck onto Greymane lands under the cover of dusk, weaving through the overgrown gardens and skirting the side of the property until they reached Caelith’s private residence. The wine cellar made the perfect hideout. It was far from the main rooms and stocked with both drink and deniability if they were caught before the trap was sprung.
The soft buzz from Emmaline’s speak-easy sent a ripple of anticipation through her spine. “It’s time,” she said, palming the device, its surface warm from her pocket.
Ursula’s hand darted toward another bottle, but Emmaline slapped it away. “No drinks until after we’ve got him locked down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She gave an exaggerated salute, but the playfulness quickly faded. Turning serious, Ursula rested one broad hand on Emmaline’s shoulder, then Aeren’s. “We’re going to end this tonight.” Her voice was steady as bedrock. “If either of you need to step out—for air, or for good—you can. No judgment.” Shadows coiled behind her eyes, dark smoke licking at the edges of her pupils. “I will ensure things are finished to your satisfaction. It doesn’t have to be you who does it.”
“I appreciate it, friend. But you’re wrong.” Emeline’s weight shifted forward. “It has to be me.”
“Us.” Aeren’s fingers closed around Emmaline’s hand.
“Us.” She echoed, balancing the speak-easy on the neck of a half-empty bottle, angling it up as the projection flared to life.
Light filled the cellar in a pale wash, casting the image of an ornate chandelier overhead. It was an intricate spiral of dark iron branches, each arm tipped with soft golden flames. Beneath it stretched a dining table carved from a single slab of polished stone.
The angle shifted, swaying slightly with each step Margo took.
“She’s wearing the device around her neck,” Emmaline murmured. “Looks like jewelry, but it’s how we’re seeing all this, since she can’t just have her speak-easy out and on display.”
The image spun next as Margo turned. “Thank you.” Her voice filtered through the projection. “You’re… Deyric, right?”
Emmaline’s stomach dipped. She’d known he might be here. Expected it. But seeing him, even just this flickering ghost in the crystal, was still a gut punch. Was this how it would always feel, every time she saw him—forever bracing for an impact that never softened, only shifted deeper?
“Yes.” His voice came rough, clipped. “Please enjoy your dinner. Caelith will be down shortly.”
He turned to leave, but Margo’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm. He stopped, looking at her, but his face revealed nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Margo whispered.
Deyric’s head tilted, just slightly. “For what?”
On the other side of the projection, Emmaline tensed. “Margo, what are you doing?” she hissed under her breath, even knowing the crystal only transmitted one way.
The projection wobbled faintly, the view tilting side to side as Margo shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” Her fingers slipped from his sleeve as he retreated back through the door.
