Page 67 of Bound

But then…

At last…

“Whip out the dance card, Wizard. These pretty young things are looking ready to rock with you.”

Brick audibly exhaled. It was echoed across the room. Just as fast, everyone pulled new oxygen back in. It didn’t escape his notice that the biggest suck-down belonged to Evrest’s lungs.

What the hell was going on with the man?

He sneaked a step closer to the guy. “Penny for your thoughts,” he growled lowly. “Or would that be a dagger for your wrists?” He didn’t relent his stance when the king gave up another sharp breath and nothing else. “Goddammit, Cimarron. What’s in your brooding tea?”

Evrest figure-eighted his head in a cranial shrug. Brick was tempted to snarl louder. Christ, this guy and the mixed signals. The king seemed more like an annoyed CEO than a chieftain on the edge. Was it as unintentional as it seemed? Or was the guy purposely trying to give him psychological whiplash?

“They did not drop that many operatives in the middle of Drehd for the mere game of it,” he finally said with a scowl. “I only hope that Oz, Jagger, and their teams know that.”

As if Ozias had long-distance hearing, his crisp accent crackled over the speakers. “Copy you on that, Greenbeard. Eyes are open. We’re ready for the bastards. Roll your dice northeast as planned and commence Sub-Operation Spades and Aces. We’ll put fifteen big ones on red once Tails antes up at the table.”

An achingly familiar huff had Brick jerking around along with the king.

“Saints and stars.” Jayd’s tone was thorny, though her gaze was a cement chunk of worry. “What is going on? Spaces? Aces? What is a Tails?”

“It’s radio code, Pix—Your Highness,” he responded before wheeling his regard back to Evrest. “The kind we can be encouraged by, right?”

“Yes,” Evrest returned. “And…no.” He didn’t blink when weathering the intense curiosity that Brick joined to Jayd’s. “Tails is Fox’s radio ID, so the direction sounds like they are rendezvousing with his team. Since each team has five men on it, the fifteen is likely a reference to their strength as a combined force.”

“And those logistics line up with Jag’s location,” Iscah supplied.

“And that is another good thing…yes?”

As soon as Jayd concluded that with a heavy gulp, Brick hyperfocused back on her. A huge question still loomed in her gaze, but he couldn’t discern its verbiage or purpose. But here was a way for him to have purpose, without having to get close to her again.

“So what’s the not-so-good part?” he demanded at once.

Evrest responded by stepping back toward the electronic map. As soon as he swept a hand across a large black square at the edge of the heavily forested texture, Brick tightened his confused frown—in conjunction with Jayd’s and Iscah’s gasps.

“Creator’s mercy.”

“Creator’s balls.”

“What?” Brick prompted them before glowering Evrest’s direction. “What the hell is—”

“Censhyr?”

Jayd’s question was featherlight but strangled by agony.

“Censhyr.” Iscah wasn’t so pastel about her tone. “Of course. That is exactly where they are bound.” After words beneath her breath that had to be some unique profanity, she spat, “As transparent as crows after maggots. Disgusting bonsuns.”

“Disgusting but smart,” Jayd asserted, back to a doomsday glare. “Where else are they going to access a whole army, willing and able, after a few simple key turns?”

“What the fuck is Censhyr?” Brick leveled again, looking to Iscah now. He wasn’t sure if the royals were good for the answer, considering they looked like the revelation had confirmed a global apocalypse.

Fortunately, the tech specialist had kept her head. For the most part. “It is our high-security prison complex,” she explained. “While the palais dungeons are deep enough to be soundproof and secure, they were never designed to accommodate modern-day prisoners for long. Nothing beyond basic lighting, plumbing, and alarmed egress doors have been installed down there.”

“So you went ground-up on a better facility outside of town.” He nodded at Evrest. “Smart move.”

While the monarch accepted his compliment with a matching dip of his head, Evrest didn’t surrender his tense posture and clenched jaw.

“Of course. Very smart,” the man growled. “Unless a loose cannon courtier with intimate knowledge of the place has become one’s sworn opponent.”