Page 50 of Embers of Ruin

“Yes, it seems my stomach won’t allow me to starve myself to death. That must be so disappointing for you.”

“It's not. Our king has no desire to see you starve. Well done for managing breakfast without being told—for once.”

“Don't sound so pleased. It was against my will.” I glance at the table before looking back at her with an exaggerated sigh. “I simply don't want to keep offending the cook. The food here is delicious.”

I grimace. “Unfortunately, that's one thing this palace seems to have gotten right.”

“It rarely is disappointing.”

There is something very irritating about a woman who refuses to be baited properly. It’s as if she has had enough of taunting me, which is no fun because I actually enjoy it. Onyx would have smirked and Thorin would have said something cold or infuriating, pushing me to my limit the way Mazelle usually does. But Mazelle simply stands there, composed as a blade, waiting for me to finish carrying on. Naturally, that makes me want to be more difficult.

“Am I being dragged to the garden today?” I ask, reaching for the tea. “Or has His Majesty decided to allow everyone a reprieve from my charming presence?”

“His Majesty is occupied today, and will not oversee your training.” She looks way too smug with herself.

The smug little smile tugging at her mouth tells me she's been looking forward to delivering that news. The cup pauses halfway to my mouth. The way she said it and the smirk that accompanies it sends a pang straight to my chest.

Occupied.

I take a sip of tea to hide it and burn my tongue for my trouble. Wonderful way to start the morning, as always.

“Tragic,” I say, once I recover enough to speak. “I had hoped to spend my morning with demands to work miracles.”

Mazelle watches me for a moment too long. “Our king has better things to do than watch over you. He is not your personal guard, Lady Tarethyn.” I catch something flash across her face, gone in an instant. Jealousy? No…. resentment, perhaps.

“Captain Onyx has requested permission to escort you through the lower city.” She continues.

The cup nearly slips from my fingers as I set it down carefully. After our kiss—Thorin is allowing Onyx to be near me? What game is he playing?

I watch Mazelle carefully, searching for any sign that Thorin confided in her about what he saw in this room days ago. Her expression remains perfectly composed, giving nothing away. Whatever secrets Mazelle keeps, I won't uncover them by reading her face.

“Onyx requested that?” I say, attempting to hide the shock from my voice. She notices anyway, damn it. I’m more transparent than she is, unfortunately. Her eyes narrow on me, sweeping over me again.

“Yes. Lady Tarethyn, are you hard of hearing?”

“And Thorin allowed it?” I press, wanting to know why. I need to know why Thorin is allowing it.

Mazelle’s mouth tightens faintly at my use of his name, which I enjoy enough to consider saying it again. “His Majesty approved the Captain’s request.”

That piece of information is very interesting.

“Why?”

“That is not my concern, nor should it be yours.”

“You, Lieutenant, are a liar.”

Her eyes sharpen at that statement while I smile sweetly. Mazelle steps farther into the room and gestures toward a folded set of clothing draped across the chair. When did they get there? I look at her as my brows scrunch in confusion.

“When—”

“You are not the only person in this kingdom who possesses magic that is useful. Keep this in mind though—it is possible to exhaust your usefulness.” She says, smirking.

Ignoring her last comment, I glance toward the outfit waiting on the chair: dark trousers, a fitted tunic, and a cloak lined with soft gray fur. Beside them rest black boots that look sturdy enough. They look like practical clothes. Travel clothes. So I am leaving the palace today.

“Dress,” Mazelle says. “Captain Onyx will meet you at the eastern gate.”

“And you?”