Page 94

“Of course not,” I whisper back as Quill kisses the tender spot behind my ear, teeth nipping at my lobe. My core heats, and I squirm in his arms.

He tightens his grip around me as he lowers his voice to a murmur that’s nearly inaudible even for vampiric senses. “Keep moving like that, and your response will have been a lie.”

I wriggle once more for good measure, and he nips me again.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, twisting to meet his indigo eyes.

“It has to work, tiny monster. It has to.”

The wagon slows to a stop.

My non-beating heart lurches into my throat as Quill and I fall as still as statues.

“State your business,” says a guard. The voice is edged with age.

“My father, Lord Bower, sent me to pay a visit to his dear friend Jarrett,” says Carver. He laughs haughtily, the way a debauched lord might when he catches himself saying something impolite or outright wrong. “I suppose I mean King Jarrett now, what with his rise to the throne.”

“Mm.” A pause. The flipping of parchment. The scratching of a pencil. “And your name is?”

“Lord Percy,” says Carver, and I can imagine him flashing his perfect teeth. “Son of Lord Bower.”

An even longer pause as the guard likely sizes Carver up, tries to recall what exactly Lord Percy from Seagrove looked like the last time he visited Adelphi ten years ago as a teenage boy. Suntanned skin and dark hair. Those are his main identifiers, and Carver… Well, to spare Quill from draining himself to illusion Carver into an identical replica to Lord Percy, we opted for a less safe but still believable option.

“And your companion?” asks the guard.

Heaven and stars eternal. We didn’t prepare for the guards to question Eivor’s presence, didn’t⁠—

“My whipping boy,” he says devilishly. “A gift from Da. Do you not have those in the great kingdom of Adelphi?”

“N-no,” the guard stammers. More scrawling. “Very well, Lord Percy. What’s in your wagon?”

“My belongings and gifts for the Alarie family.” A rustle of movement, a thud of boots hitting the ground. “Come. Take a look.”

I’m so still, my body is as taut as a bowstring. Footsteps circle the wagon’s perimeter. They stop at the rear, hands reaching for the ribbon Quill tied behind him to secure the white canvas in place. The knots are undone by deft fingers, and muted gray light pours into the wagon as the covering parts.

Quill presses his face into my neck as he concentrates.

We are as still as the bedroll we’re illusioned to be.

An old man dressed in the familiar crimson uniform of Adelphi’s guards climbs in and whistles. “You’ve come with great treasures, Lord Percy.”

Carver follows, his gaze cutting to where he knows we should be. His brow furrows, and Quill’s lips curve into a smile, clearly pleased. He’s casting an illusion so strong not even one of his kindred is capable of seeing through it. I relax, if only a little. We’re so close, so fucking close to getting inside Wall Lilium without anyone the wiser.

The guard toes the spilled sand, grinning. Because to him, it appears to be hundreds of gilded coins, not sand harshly shoved into a sack. Quill mentioned this particular illusion—turning sand or grain into gold—is one of his favorites. He was all too excited to work it into our plan. Not only because he delights in their inevitable disappointment when they learn they’ve been duped but because altering the visual of an object takes less energy than conjuring from scratch. Unless, of course, he’s casting an illusion on a person. Apparently, that’s when it gets tricky.

Carver gestures to the rest of the wagon. “Would you like to peer inside the trunks or are you satisfied with your inspection?”

The old man eyes the load with greed. “I’ve seen enough.”

Carver nods and departs the wagon. The guard hesitates, his gaze settling on the corner where Quill and I lurk, illusioned. His attention drifts to the rest of the wagon, over opened crates containing what appears to be books and jewels and clothes threaded so fine the silk alone likely cost more than what he’s paid in a month’s time. Carver’s steps travel around the side of the wagon. Still, the man lingers. Only when the sound of Carver settling into his seat reaches his mortal ears does he pluck up a handful of gold, and stuff it into his trousers.

Quill’s smile broadens against the curve of my neck, and I very nearly loose a laugh as he opens his mind just a fraction and shares a fantasy of the old man’s disappointment when he inevitably reaches into his breeches later to find only a pocket full of sand.

We ditch the wagon full of sand and hay in a seedy part of the West Quarter.

Risna transforms into a stray dog as we regroup and rehash the rest of our plan—get in and out of the library unseen.

With our hoods drawn, Quill and I separate from the group and cut through narrow alleys and less busy streets to get to Adelphi’s public library. It’s tucked on the northern end of the city, not far from the king’s castle.